Touched By Fate
by ZombiBird
Summary: Skuld Winther was not a hero, nor did she have any intention of becoming one. Simply put: she just didn't care enough. Skyrim? Wasn't her homeland. Alduin? Not her fight. All of this 'end of the world' nonsense? People had a way of over-exaggerating. Unfortunately for her, the gods thought otherwise. Unfortunately for the Gods, she didn't give a damn. Eventual BrynjolfxDragonborn
1. The Renegade From Cyrodiil

Skuld _hated_ cart rides, end of story.

Always had. Always would. And there wasn't a single thing that would change her stance on the matter. That said, today, her distain for them was proving to be particularly strong.

Perhaps it had something to do with her company.

Or the rope binding her wrists. Or the fresh gashes on her face that would _definitely_ scar. Or maybe, just _maybe_ , it was the shite-pissing headache that nipped relentlessly at her sanity, grating on her very last nerve as she was forced to listen to the endless prattle of those around her.

Truly, she had a wealth of options to choose from.

"Where are they taking us?" Skuld suppressed a scoff at the inquiry. _Does it bloody matter, mate? They haven't hog-tied us because they're interested in hearing our life story over sweet-rolls and juniper mead._

The prattle continued and she looked off, uninterested. She didn't care where they were going. Anywhere was better than back to Cyrodiil, back to that damnable house. At least here, she could die with her dignity as a free woman still intact.

Obligation this, destiny that – she didn't want to hear it anymore. They could all go shove their ' _Fate_ ' nonsense up their arses and pen songs about it, if it meant that much to them. It meant troll snot to her, and that was what _should_ have mattered.

But _no._

The carriage pulled to a stop in the center of the town that they'd crossed into some few minutes back, and the snotty Imperial Captain starting barking orders left and right. Skuld would have loved to see the length of the rod that was lodged up her arse; it would set some kind of record, no doubt.

They unloaded from the carts, and the same whelp that had been whining the whole way there started getting doubly fidgety, wringing his hands around in his bindings until his wrists were raw and bloodied.

The Imperial soldier next to the captain started calling out names, and it took her a moment realize what was going on. The blond Nord that had been sitting across from her took to muttering scornfully under his breath, " _Empire loves their damn lists_."

This time, Skuld really _did_ scoff, because _of course_ they had a list. Imperials had a list for anything and everything you could think of making a list about, and a few things that you couldn't.

Once, she'd written her mother a list of all different places she could cram her expectations.

"-Lokir of Rorikstead." The cowardly horse thief nearly shat himself as what Skuld presumed to be his name was called. He jolted, took a half step back, and started again with his whining. Then, when that proved ineffective, he bolted.

Didn't made it half a boat's length before the Imperial archers shot him down. Skuld didn't like milk-drinkers any more the next Nord, but that didn't mean they deserved to die like that, the sorry bastard.

The guard Captain reassumed her pompous stance, and called out again, "Next prisoner!"

The list-checker looked to her, "You there, step forward."

Skuld stepped up to the pair. The soldier, unlike his captain, addressed her in a tone devoid of any sort of aggression, "Who…are you?"

 _A half-nordic, half-imperial mutt with mommy issues, pleased to make your acquaintance._

She shifted her stance, and the fresh cuts gouging her lips hurt terribly when she spoke, "Skuld Winther."

"You're a long way from the Imperial city-" _And thank Talos for that._ "What are you doing in Skyrim?" He asked.

"Presently? I'm having a bit of a shite time, believe it or not." She replied, tone flat. "As for the long run? Well, given the circumstances, I really can't say."

The blond Nord from the cart snickered under his breath. At least _somebody_ could appreciate her sense of humor – unlike the Captain, who'd taken to glowering at her with an even more spiteful glare than before.

The Imperial soldier looked the parchment in his hands up and down before deferring to his commanding officer, "What do we do? She's not on the list."

They _could_ cut her bindings, return her bow and quiver, along with her hunting leathers, and send her off on her merry way. She'd be sure to send a fruit basket conveying her kind regards on a later date.

"Forget the list, she goes to the block with the rest of them." A real mood-lifter, this one.

The soldier sighed, "By your orders, Captain. Follow the Captain, prisoner." Skuld did as she was told and fell in line with the others.

Some Imperial Army higher-up stepped forwards, "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

 _Ah, so that's what this is about._

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos," A streak of white and black darted around in the corner of her eye. "and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace." Skuld shook her head. _No, don't even get your hopes up, there's no way that he could have possibly-_

Somewhere far off, a shrill cry emanated, but Skuld was more distracted by the movement that continued in the corner of her vision.

"What _was_ that?"

She turned her head just in time to catch sight of the tip of a furry tail as it disappeared behind a cluster of crates.

"It's nothing. Carry on."

 _Grim?!_

"Yes, General Tullius. Give them their last rites."

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-"

A minuscule head popped out from its hiding place, ears bobbing lightly when his eyes met hers. Her lips curled into a smirk. _Well, gods be damned – that smart little bastard managed to follow us._

"- _For the love of Talos,_ shut up and let's get this over with!"

"As you wish."

Her (adoptive) elder brother, Lars, had purchased the ferret as a gift for her from a collector of exotic animals for her thirteenth birthday. From that day on, she'd taken it upon herself to train the little devil as her partner in crime and made him the accomplice to her many, _many_ schemes; most of which ended with her mother making a complete arse of herself.

When they got ambushed crossing the border, and he ran off, Skuld was sure that she'd never see the little shit ever again. Apparently, she'd been mistaken.

-Fat lot of good it would do her now, though. A foot and a half long rodent wasn't going to keep her head on her shoulders any more than a hound was going to keep a dragon from devouring a fold of goats.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning." _Not if you keep that up,_ "My ancestors are smiling on me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

Skuld jolted as the sickening thwack of the headsman's axe coming down over the Stormcloak soldier's head rang out. His decapitated body was shoved aside, and her heart skidded to a halt in her chest as the Imperial Captain locked eyes with her gaze and pointed to her.

"Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!"

Suddenly, she wasn't so fearless as she thought was. _No._ Skuld rounded her shoulders back. _I knew the risks when I set this plan in motion._

Another guttural roar rose in the air, "There it is again, did you hear it?"

"I said, next prisoner!"

Skuld set her fears aside, stepped forward, and sauntered towards the headsman, kneeling down of her own fruition, and setting her head over the lip of the block. She craned her neck to peer up at him, and curled her lips into a smile, "You'd better not mess this up." She started, "I won't forgive you if you miss and mar my face any more than it already is. It's the only thing I've got going for me, you know?"

Again, she could hear the Nord from the cart snicker, though, this time, there was a touch of bittersweet sympathy to his tone. At least _someone_ would mourn her, even if it was only briefly, and in passing.

She shot one last look to Grim, then set her sights onto the headsman. If he was going to end her life, he'd best be planning on looking her in the eyes as he did it.

Another roar sounded. He hoisted his battle axe high above his head, the light of the sun gleaming on the mettle, and then, something that Skuld never thought she'd see – not in a million years – flew over the mountain behind him, and made for the watch tower at his back.

"What in Oblivion is that?!"

 _-Dragon!_

Just as he began to drop the axe, the black scaled beast landed on the tower, and the earth beneath them quaked, sending the headsman – and more importantly, his axe – to the ground.

 _Sweet shite, sweet shite, sweet bloody shite that's a bloody damn dragon!_

She didn't know for how long she was laying there, helpless and too afraid to move, before someone grabbed at the back of her shirt, "Hey, Imperial, get up!" The blond Nord from the cart hoisted her to her feet and cut through her bindings with a dagger that he must have taken off of one of the dead soldiers. He clapped his hands over her shoulders, jolting her from her frozen state, "The gods won't give us another chance."

He tugged her into motion, and she was obliged to follow after him, until she remembered something.

 _Shit._

Skuld skidded to a halt and tore her wrist from the Nord's grasp. He whipped around, and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her towards him, "Are you touched in the head, girl? We need to take cover!"

She shook her head vigorously, "No-" A blast of flames leveled the house mere feet away from them. They both ducked down, away from the flying debris. She coughed through the smoke and pulled her arm away, "There's something I've got to do. You go- I'll find my way on my own." And with those words she turned on her heels and sprinted back in the direction that she'd seen Grim.

 _That rodent will be my damn undoing._

The Nord let out an annoyed, " _Damn it, girl!_ " and she could hear the fool running after her.

Fine, if he wanted to get his arse roasted on her account, that was his decision.

The hold had erupted into chaos, screaming bodies were running every which way, and the air had been clogged by thick clouds of smoke, burning embers drifting among them. Skuld cupped her hands around her mouth, " _Grim!_ Damn it, where are you, you little shite!" The crates that he'd been hiding behind had been leveled by the debris of the imploded house behind it.

She was about to run off to continue her search somewhere else when a splinter of wood lifted up and Grim's soot-laden head popped out from underneath it. His nose twitched. Skuld scoffed and jogged over to him, the Nord still on her heels. As she approached she dropped into a crouch and extended her forearm, and when she was close enough, Grim sprang from his hiding place, scampered up her arm, and clamored across the back of her shoulders before settling, claws digging into the fabric of her shirt, petrified.

Her disgruntled savior skidded to a halt behind her, kicking up a cloud of dirt in his wake, "Oh for the love of- a _rodent_?!" He clicked his tongue. A burst of flames soared past them; it was time to _leave_. "You know what, I don't care. Let's go!" He called.

"By all means, lead the way."

* * *

It was only once they were questionably safe behind closed doors, that the severity of the situation seemed to sink in.

They were going to die here.

"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" They were all going to bloody _fucking_ die here. She was going to die in some filthy, crumbling mess of a tower next to generic Nordic arsehole numbers one through four and _ser-shouts-a-whole-fucking-lot_. This was it, this was _so_ it. The headsman was one thing, Skuld could have lived (died?) with that, but a _dragon_? As in, who knows how many stones of scaly hide, fire breath, and mystical Nordic shouting? No, _ohhhhh_ no. No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_!

Call her superstitious, but there were just some things in this world that she was not fit to being around, and dragons fell right at the top of that list.

"Legends don't burn down villages." Why hadn't she just stayed in Cyrodiil like Lars had told her? She should have, really. Working clean-up in the arena wasn't ideal but it was better that damn _dragons_ flying around, fartin' flames out of their arses every which way until the whole bloody damn sky burned down! But no- Skuld got greedy, because of course she did, she _always_ got greedy- you grow up rich and spoilt, like it or not, that sort of shite tends to happen! "We need to move. _Now_!" And then there was her luck! Her stupid, gods-cursed luck, she should have _known_ that something like this would happen, it _always_ bloody did!

Somebody grabbed at her arm, trying to pull her up from where she'd collapsed onto the floor and taken to hugging her knees like a frightened child, "Come on, girl, we've got to get out of here!" It was the blond Nord from before, Skuld thought. Then again, they were all covered in soot now and it was incredibly hard to tell who exactly was who- blond hair, blue eyes; they all looked the same in dim lighting.

Skuld tried to will her body into motion, but it wasn't happening. She couldn't. She'd just been on the receiving end of a headsman's axe and then on the receiving end of a dragon attack- she was going to need more than however-many-minutes had passed to process all of this and another five minutes after that to throw up the entire contents of her stomach. And then she was going to pass out, and by Arkay what a lovely nap she would have!

The man squatted down to meet her gaze, cupping her face in his hands and forcing her to look at him. "Look, I know that you're scared, but-"

"I'm not scared." Not scared at all. The least bit scared. If anybody in this tower was scared, it wasn't her. She hadn't even been able to keep her voice from cracking, that's how not-scared she was.

Skuld hated how the tenderness in his eyes turned to genuine, heart-melting, pity.

Ulfric – the one who'd been gagged – called out to the man crouched before her, "Leave the girl, Ralof! We don't have time for this."

The nord (no, _Ralof_ , Skuld corrected herself) snapped his head around, the small braid in his hair nearly smacking her in the face, "No- I'm not-!" A frustrated sigh followed by a muttered curse, "You go! I'll catch up." Ulfric stared him down, expression grim. Slowly, he nodded, then turned around to usher the rest of his men up the steps through the tower.

The ground shook, and from outside, an earsplitting roar resonated through the tower walls, as if the brick wasn't even there. For the first time, Skuld realized that it wasn't- not entirely; a hole had been blown out partway up the spiral steps. Grim began quivering from his place on her shoulder. Ralof looked back to her, and the only thing she could bring herself to say was another not-at-all-convincing, "I'm not scared." This time, her voice was barely a whisper, that's how not-scared she was.

He stared into her eyes with a look so intense that Skuld doubted she could look away if she tried, "Well, I'm scared." Was not what she'd been expecting him to say.

"You-" Her breath caught in her throat, "You are?"

He smiled, one that shook: a fear smile, "I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life." He swallowed, the lump beneath the skin of his throat quivering something terrible. "But," he started, before pausing to release another shaky breath, "But I don't want to die here. Do you?" His thumb began to trace comforting circles over her cheekbone.

"I… I don't know…" She'd all but accepted that she was going to die when her head was on the chopping block- but that was before, when it was going to be quick, clean, _painless_. Skuld wasn't afraid of dying, that wasn't the scary part. She was afraid of _pain,_ she was afraid of _dying_ in pain. She'd never really been in pain before- not before her face got cut up in the ambush, and even then, she knew that was hardly anything. She knew that it could get so much worse. But that _hurt_ , and if just _that_ hurt, then she didn't want to know what _worse_ felt like. What dying felt like- what being _burned alive_ felt like.

"Well, I don't think you do. And I don't think you're going to." Skuld searched his eyes for… anything, nothing, _everything_ \- Oblivion, she didn't know. But then again, she never did. She was beginning to notice a dangerous trend, here.

"Oh? And how can you be so sure?" She tried to sound tough – angry, even – but instead ended up sounding like a dying Argonian; all rasp and embarrassing _I'm-on-the-cusp-of-crying_ sounds.

His lips, dry and cracked, pursed tight, and then he said, "Because I don't think the Gods would save you from the axe the way they did just to kill you with a dragon ten minutes later." A smile, "Do you?"

"No…I suppose not." Another splintering roar and the distinct sound of what Skuld now knew to be fire-breath sounded from outside.

"We need to go, _now._ " Ralof urged her, and she nodded, swallowing, her throat so dry it hurt. He took hers arms in his hands, bracing them against his own, and helped to pull her to her feet. Her legs shook, and she almost fell back down. He steadied her with his own weight, holding onto her until she was able to stand on her own. Once she was, he took her hand in his and lead her towards the steps. Skuld had never been one for hand holding but she clung to it like her life depended on it- because, at this point, it very well did. "Come on, we can go up through the tower! If we're quick, we can catch up to Jarl Ulfric and the others!" He called over another particularly loud dragon-shout.

Once they began climbing the steps, Skuld found one, big, glaring problem with his plan. The blast from earlier – the one that had blown a hole in the tower – the debris was piled high inside, blocking off any hopes of advancing further. "Um, Ralof-"

"I know." He sucked in a breath, "Alright, change of plans then-" He gripped her on the shoulders, turning her around until she was facing the hole. He extended his arm, pointing to a building adjacent to the tower with a hole blown in it, "You see the building on the other side?"

 _Ohhhhh_ no, nuh uh, Skuld didn't like where this was going, " _Ralof_ -"

"Jump through the roof and keep going; I'll be right behind you."

"Fuck no!" There were three things in this world that Skuld didn't do; dragons, heights, and dresses.

"Girl-" He started.

"No! I can't! If you think I'm jumping you're having a godsdamned lau-!" Before she could even finish her sentence, Ralof was scooping her up in his arms and backing up. "No- Ralof, don't you dare! _Ralof-_!" She clawed desperately at his clothing, trying to grab ahold of anything that might stop him from doing what she had a sinking feeling he was going to, whether she wanted it or not. Grim abandoned ship, scurrying from her shoulder to Ralof's in the midst of her struggling.

"Just trust me!" And with that, he threw her out of the tower.

* * *

 **A.N/** And, there we go! I've gotten super into re-playing the Elder Scrolls games recently and thought I might give writing my own fanfiction for Skyrim a go. But know, going into this, that Unfavorable Fates will deviate largely from the main quest-line in some places, and may not follow it at all in others. Just a general head's up. Also (as I've also posted Unfavorable Fates on Ao3 and have gotten comments on it there) in regards to Skuld's personality and language - particularly her less than canonical use of vulgarity - it's intentional. I realize that, for someone in the Elder Scrolls universe, she is particularly... colorful. It's intentional. A big part of Skuld's character is simply her inability to fit in; that she says and does all of these things that were in no way thought of as typical or even (in some, and most, cases) socially acceptable. Just trust that I have a general idea of what I'm doing and all will be fine.

That said, I love hearing feedback of any kind, whether it's various theories, what you likes, what you didn't, what you think can be improved upon, what you'd like to see in the future, etc. I'm always open to constructive criticism. (This is also where I typically need to point out that there is a very big difference between "constructive criticism" and pointing out everything that's wrong in a way that's unnecessarily rude.)


	2. The Fork in the Road

Somehow, be it by pure luck or some sort of divine intervention, Skuld managed to clear the gap between the tower and the house on the other side. Her shoulder was the first thing to hit the floor, and the pain that shot through it as she landed was nothing short of excruciating; unlike anything she'd ever felt. She'd definitely just dislocated something. Her momentum kept her going, forcing her limp body to roll a few times over the surprisingly intact floorboards. Behind her, a loud, splintering sound ripped through the air, and the building shook as a portion of what was left of the roof caved in, closing off the crater she'd come in through. Smoke filled the space around her, ashes dancing through the air.

Skuld groaned, rolling onto her uninjured side and hugging her arm against her torso as Ralof called after her, "Girl! Are you alright?!" For now? Yes, but if they got out of this alive she was going to kill him. "You've got to get up! That roof isn't going to last another minute!"

She tried to take in a breath, only to end up in a fit of dry-retching and coughing as the smoke in the air grew thick and black. She needed to get moving _now_ , or she'd suffocate long before anything else had the chance to put her down. Somehow, she managed to get one good breath in and held it, pushing herself up off the floor, every inch of her body (her ribs and chest, in particular) still sore and rattled from the impact. She could just barely make out Ralof's form through the fog and debris, Grim still perched on his shoulder, "Go- get to the keep if you can! I'll find another way out and meet you there!" He called.

Skuld nodded, not that he could see it, and turned. _Get to the keep. I can do that- at least, I think I can?_ She kept up a semi-reassuring conversation with herself in her head to try and remain calm as she limped her way through the inn, ducking under a smoldering support beam that had collapsed. _Focus, Skuld, just… just focus- focus on getting out of this burning death trap for now._

 _Whatever's outside can get in line and wait its bloody turn._

Only outside was no better, Skuld soon learned. In fact, it was very likely worse. Screaming and crackling and the ferocious sound of beating wings was all that filled the air, followed by the occasional dragon-shout and the hyper, high-pitched noise of dragon-fire. Corpses littered the streets, some so burned that only charcoal statues remained, others just raw enough to identify. Skuld didn't know which of the two was worse, but she had a sinking feeling that if she kept standing around, she'd soon find out for herself.

So, she ran.

She ran not knowing where the keep was or how to get there, ran only knowing they hadn't passed it on their way in, so it must be somewhere up ahead. It had to be. _It needed to be._

Her arm made her slower than she'd have liked to be, and much less limber. Still, she managed, dodging the remaining townsfolk and soldiers flooding the streets with relative grace, weaving through the larger clumps of them and taking shortcuts wherever she could. She ducked through what she supposed was once an alley, guarded on one side by a sturdy brick wall, and leaned back against it, allowing herself to catch her breath. She'd never wanted for a drinking pouch more in her life.

A mighty roar sounded from the sky above, and the ground around Skuld shook, jerking her body forwards and nearly knocking her to the ground. Another building collapse, she told herself. Hopefully, not the keep.

Then, as she righted herself, she noticed _them_ , and knew herself to be very, _very_ wrong.

Two large, obsidian looking, talon-like hooks sat, curled over the top of the wall. One of them lifted, extended outwards, and angled itself down, coming to rest on the ground beside Skuld's foot. Attatched to the claw was a black, scaly wing, and attatched to that… she already had a fairly good idea. The other wing followed suit and come to rest on her other side before a massive head – larger than the entirety of Skuld's body – dipped down into view.

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest and every drop of blood in her veins seemed to turn to ice. She scrambled backwards, plastering her body against the wall and willing the beast to seek out its prey elsewhere.

 _Please. Please don't see me, please go away, please, gods, please let it leave._

She could hear the beast breathing, could feel the rise and fall of its chest in the way it reverberated down the wall, thrumming gently against her skin like a pulse.

Its head tilted this way and that, peering through the dust kicked up in all the commotion, the way it moved not too far off from the way a snake might search through the grass for its next meal. Except something told Skuld that this had nothing to do with survival. No, this damnable creature could have any meal it wanted; a flock of sheep, a herd of cattle- gods, it could have _bears_ for breakfast, lunch, and bloody dinner if it so wished to. It had no reason to attack a hold, and even less reason to seek out and slaughter every living thing within its walls.

Slowly, the dragon eased its body forwards, pulling its hind legs up to rest atop the lip of the wall, knocking a handful of crumbled stone loose. The pebbles fell, bouncing off Skuld's shoulders and face and onto the ground as she winced away from the sound.

The beast's head snapped downwards, alerted by the noise, it's body and neck craning unnaturally until it was staring right at her. It remained calm and silent, much to Skuld's immediate panic, as it leaned in closer and drew in a deep intake of breath, inhaling her scent. It blew the air out through its nostrils, and she knew, in that moment, that it was toying with her as it edged closer, a dangerous gleam, almost akin to mischief, in its eyes.

Her hands moved blindly over the stone bricks of the wall, searching for something – a loose stone, a broken scrap of wood, _anything_ – to grab onto and swing as the beast nudged her chin with its muzzle, drawing a terrified squeak from the back of her throat as she squeezed her eyes shut. Then, she felt it. An arrow, lodged into a crease in the bricks, old enough that the wood was splintering. But it was all she had.

She lunged to the side, closing her hand over the shaft of the arrow and snapping it in half before twisting her body around and driving it into a seam in the beast's armor-like scale plating. She moved quickly as the dragon pulled back, not quite hurt but not unscathed, and dove under its hulking form as it recoiled. Knowing she'd never get a better opening, Skuld scrambled to her feet and lurched forwards into a sprint, just barely ducking through the doorway of a decimated building as a slew of fire-breath consumed the airspace behind her. Not having the luxury of time to catch her breath, she stumbled her way through the barely-there remains of the building and out of the alley, back onto the main stretch of road that ran through the town. With any luck, it would lead her straight to the keep.

Her shoulder, and by extension, her arm, felt much worse now as she ran; the motion of pulling the arrow from the wall had been a bit too much, given the awkward angle.

So, that said, when someone suddenly grabbed ahold of her bad arm, effectively yanking her to a halt and summoning a sickening pop from the limb, the scream that escaped her was less than quiet.

Were she to look back on this, Skuld might have realized that she'd been mere seconds away from being snatched up by the winged abomination, but in the moment, she was far too wrapped up in the shock and the pain to do anything other than curse.

"What the _fuck-_?!" She seethed as she was pulled into a tight, covered, alcove created by a half-fallen roof and pulled up against a musclebound torso. She looked up, surprised to see the Imperial soldier from earlier.

 _Well, well, well. Look who suddenly gives a fuck._

His eyes were focused on something outside, arms effectively pinning her against him. When she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, he hissed under his breath, " _Wait_." The harshness of his tone contrasted by his earlier softness effectively startling her into silence. His arms tightened around her waist, and Skuld managed to look over her shoulder in time to catch the shadow of the dragon flying off to terrorize some other poor sod.

He waited a few seconds, making sure the coast was clear, before slowly releasing her, "Sorry." He apologized, casting a wary glance towards her shoulder.

Skuld stepped away from him, a bit more at ease knowing they were still relatively hidden, and rolled her bad shoulder, "I think you fixed it, actually." She whispered breathlessly, noting a distinct lack of pain other than a lingering soreness that she was sure would hurt like a bastard come tomorrow morning.

A low, pleasantly surprised hum was his only response. He rested his hand on the side of her forearm, lightly moving her aside so that he could peer out from their darkened hiding place.

Skuld chortled under her breath, filling the silence with the first thought that came to mind, "You know, for someone who tried to have my head cleaved off my shoulders only a few minutes ago, you're awfully keen to save me." She cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly, ducking into a crouch to make the most of the small space, "How does it look out there?"

"What?" The soldier peered at her over his shoulder, and judging from the look of recognition that crossed his features, Skuld could only assume that he hadn't actually checked first to see just who's scrawny ass he was about to save before he yanked her in here. "Sorry about that." He said before focusing his attention back outside, "It looks like that thing is headed towards the rear gates. From here, it's a straight shot to the keep." He breathed, "-If any place is safe right now, it's there." He turned back to her, "What do you say, you up for making a run for it?"

Skuld exhaled, having finally caught her breath, "Honestly? Not really." The last time she'd left relative safety, she'd dislocated her shoulder and a dragon had ended up sniffing her. She couldn't say she was eager to rush back into the fray.

At the unamused look the soldier gave her, Skuld added a not _entirely_ earnest, " _Kidding_."

The soldier rolled his eyes and got into a position that said he was ready to run, "You've a funny sense of humor." He offered her his hand, ignoring her utterance of " _It's one of my many charms_ " as she placed her palm over his."Ready?"

Skuld huffed a half-baked laugh, "As I'll ever be."

* * *

" _Ralof_ \- you _beautiful_ son a whore!" Skuld could hardly hold back the slurry of nonsensical praise from escaping her lips when she caught sight of the blond nord in the courtyard of the keep, Grim still perched on his shoulder. Bloodied and out of breath, Skuld relished the look of relief that eased its way into his features as she ran towards him, only to evaporate into nothingness as his gaze drifted to the Imperial soldier at her heels.

His hand closed over Skuld's wrist as she closed the gap between them, ushering her behind him and planting himself firmly between her and the soldier. " _Ralof_ \- you damned traitor!" the soldier all but spat at him, and it became apparent to Skuld that there was _definitely_ some sort of history between the two that she was missing.

Ralof took a step backwards, towards the door of the keep, nudging Skuld back with him, "We're escaping Hadvar, you can't stop us!"

Skuld reached up, pressing her palm to the back of Ralof's shoulder with the intention of informing that he'd clearly misread the situation. That the soldier – _Hadvar_ , apparently – hadn't been running after her because he was trying to stop her, but rather, he'd been running after her because he'd been _with_ her. "Ralof-" Skuld began, only to be cut off as the blond shooed her back towards the door before turning to guide her through it himself.

She cast Hadvar one last fleeting look over Ralof's shoulder as he ushered her through the door, and was vaguely aware of the soldier calling after them, "Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

* * *

 **A.N./** Wow, it's been a hot second! Sorry about that. Writing the introduction portion of the game had been a lot more... difficult than I first anticipated. If you're like me and you've played through the intro of the game about 20+ times, then you probably have an idea of exactly how much I struggled with making this chapter (and the next few chapters) interesting and unique without repeating the monotony of the intro portion of the game. At first, I'd considered skipping over the rest of the intro, but, ultimately, I found that in the case of Skuld's story, I'd just be cutting out an incredible amount of character development that is oh-so-crucial to the plot. Unfortunately, this means that the next few chapters will literally just be the intro of the game and for that I'm so sorry because, believe me, I'm sick of reliving it too.

Now that I've finally found a head to sit in and have developed a bit of a backlog of chapters, I'll hopefully be able to get into a somewhat regular update schedule, but given that I've got a lot going on in my personal life, I'm not gonna make any promises. Until next time!

[P.S. I can't be the only one who's always confused with the whole Ralof/Hadvar meet-up encounter. Like, you very clearly run up _with_ Hadvar in toe as an ally, but then Ralof is all "No, fuck you, we're escaping!" and I'm standing there like "Bitch, does it _look_ like he's trying to stop us?" and then if you go with Ralof, Hadvar is suddenly all "Screw you, I didn't wanna save your ass anyways! Burn in hell!" Like... _what_ _?_ I don't know, man, I tried to make sense of it the best I could here.]


	3. Trial by Fire

"Do you'll think he'll make it out okay?" Skuld inquired after they closed the door to the keep.

She hadn't wanted to leave Hadvar behind – especially since he'd likely saved her ass back there – but with the animosity she'd sensed between the men, she'd doubted she'd have been able to get them to agree to stick together. Besides, even if she could have, it wasn't like she'd had the time to attempt such an intervention anyways. Perhaps, she tried to tell herself, it would be for the best.

The voice in the back of her mind doubted it.

"Who, Hadvar?" Ralof asked, leaning back against the door and releasing a tense sigh, Grim still perched on his shoulder, "Perhaps, but I wouldn't bet on it." Somewhere in her mind, Skuld wanted to be angry with him for being so flippant, but the vast majority of her understood. Were it someone she'd known out there, someone she'd detested, she'd have done the same thing.

Besides, at least he was honest, which was more than she could say for most people.

Seconds later, Ralof was sucking in a sharp breath and pushing off the door, "-Gods, Gunjar."

Skuld looked to Ralof, midway through raising her brow when she followed his line of sight to a dead Stormcloak on the floor in the center of the room. " _Shit_." She breathed, "You knew him?" She inquired, trailing after Ralof as he approached the dead soldier and crouched down beside him.

"Not well, but well enough." He sighed, closing the young Nord's eyes, "He seemed like a good lad." Before Skuld could offer her condolences, Ralof began frisking the soldier's corpse, ultimately pocketing a small pouch of coins. At Skuld's questioning look, he explained, "They're of no use to him now." He grabbed a small battleax off the floor and held it up to Skuld, handle first, "We don't know what's ahead; you'll need something to protect yourself."

Skuld shrugged and accepted the weapon, tucking it into the rope belt of her rags. Back home, Lars had tried to train her in swords, axes, maces and the like, but she'd never showed much promise with them, so she wasn't sure how much use the ax would actually be. She opted not to say as much to Ralof, though, but, as he stood, she remembered something.

 _This prick threw me out of a godsdamned tower into a burning bloody_ _building and stole my_ fucking _ferret._

" _Agh-_!" Ralof reeled back from the force of her right hook, one hand coming up to cup his chin as he righted himself, "What in Oblivion was that for?!"

" _That-_ " Skuld started as she shook out her hand, not expecting the act of punching somebody _else_ in the face to hurt as much as it did, "-was for throwing me out of a _tower_ into a burning building after I _explicitly_ told you not to." She propped her hand up on her hip, her knuckles already starting to bruise. "Now," She sighed, extending your other arm, "I'd like my rodent back, if you wouldn't mind." Ralof shot her a look but complied, angling his shoulder downwards and allowing Grim to scamper back to her.

"What happened to the girl too scared to move?" She briefly registered him muttering under his breath as he turned away from her.

Skuld scoffed, "You _threw_ her out of a _tower_."

"You're welcome." Ralof tossed sourly over his shoulder as he grabbed ahold of a barred door that looked to lead deeper into the keep, rattling it against its hinges as he realized that it was locked.

"I never said I wasn't grateful." Skuld hummed as she joined him at the door, only freeze as she heard the irate voice of the Imperial Captain from earlier echo down the hall behind them. She looked to Ralof, a hot seed of panic forming in her gut.

He must have been able to see the dread in her eyes, as he held a finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow him. She listened to his silent orders, crossing the room to the other door, crouching down, and slinking backwards until she was successfully hiding in the blind spot of the doorway. Ralof did the same on the other side, his grip tightening over the hilt of a sword that he must have grabbed somewhere between the tower and the keep. Skuld followed his lead, easing the battle ax out of her belt and gripping it so tightly that her bruised knuckles turned white.

The voices drew closer, footsteps louder, and Skuld was sure that this would be it. There were only two of them – at least, it sounded like two – but she was useless in a fight without her bow, without some distance between her and her attacker. No matter how she looked at it, the fight that would inevitably ensue would be two against one, them against Ralof.

The door was unlocked from the other side, then swung open with a metallic whine. Skuld held her breath, the seconds between the door opening and the soldiers stepping through the threshold some of the longest, most torturously slow moments in her life.

The soldiers caught sight of Ralof first, the way he'd positioned himself assured that they would. He'd leapt up to parry the officer's blade, dancing out of the way of the second soldier's lunge, and Skuld realized that he'd stolen their attention on purpose; they were so busy going after him that they hadn't even noticed her, hadn't even thought to look behind them.

Ralof expertly deflected another blow, but in the process left himself open to a second attack that knocked him back and had him stumbling to catch himself. Skuld forced herself into action, made her body obey her instinct to help him, to take advantage of the opportunity that he'd given her, despite the feeling of dread that tried desperately to keep her in place. She leapt forwards, raising her ax and bringing it down as hard as she could in the seam of the Imperial Captain's armor, where the neck opened up to allow space for the base of the helm.

The woman cried out, a gurgled scream ripping up the back of her throat as her blood sprayed over Skuld's face. The other soldier, who'd been preoccupied with Ralof, wheeled around at the sound of his commanding officer's screams. It would be his last mistake. Seconds later, Ralof's blade ran him through from behind, killing him instantly, and as the last gurgled breaths escaped the Imperial Captain, Skuld knew it was over, just like that.

She relinquished her grip on her ax, letting it fall to the stone floor, still embedded in the base of the officer's neck. She was covered in blood, thick and hot and sickeningly pungent. It was in her mouth, her eyes, her hair, seeping down the inside of her tunic, all over her hands.

She'd barely begun to register Ralof praising her before she was doubled over, vomiting all over the corpse of the woman she'd just killed.

Skuld was no stranger to violence – Lars was the Grand Champion of the Arena back in the Imperial City and she, as his biggest supporter (and someone who feared for his life come each and every bout), had never missed a fight in all the years she'd known him. She'd seen him kill all sorts of people in all sorts of horrible ways, had helped him wash the blood from himself after each and every match. She'd soothed every ache, stitched every cut, changed every bandage. The gore was nothing new. Frankly, compared to the things she'd seen, this was mild at best.

So why? Why wouldn't her hands stop shaking? Why did her skin feel like it was on fire and freezing cold and completely numb all at the same time?

Ralof's hand found its way between her shoulder blades and remained there, rubbing soothing circles into her skin until her retching ceased. When she was done, she heard Ralof speak up beside her, voice soft, "It was them or us."

"I know." Skuld managed to reply finally, voice hoarse, "But that doesn't mean I have to like it." She'd never hurt another human being before, had never _killed_ anything other than game before, and suddenly she understood how vastly different it was to watch someone die as opposed to killing them with your own two hands.

Ralof heaved a sigh, hand still firmly in place on her back, "But it does mean you need to get used to it." He said, like she didn't already know.

Skuld told him as much as she righted herself. His hand disappeared from her back, and when she turned after him, she found him crouched on the floor, working the dead Stormcloak from earlier out of his clothes.

"The fit won't be great, but it's better than bloodied rags." He explained solemnly, as he rid the soldier of his cuirass as tossed it Skuld's way.

* * *

Killing didn't get any easier the second time or the third time, but by the fourth Imperial Soldier to fall by her hands, Skuld managed to suppress her gag reflex enough to keep herself from vomiting. Ralof had been incredibly proud. In fact, he'd been so proud that Skuld very much suspected that he was overplaying his emotions in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves.

Whatever the case, it had worked, so Skuld had decided not to question it.

"Is that what they brought you in for?" Ralof spoke up suddenly from behind her.

Skuld looked away from the locked cage she'd been tampering with to peer at the older man over her shoulder. A few seconds passed before he realized that she would need a little bit more to go on in order to understand what he was asking, "Thieving, I mean." He elaborated, nodding his chin towards her handiwork, "I've been wracking my brain trying to come up with a reason for you to have been on that wagon and that the only thing I can think of."

Skuld chortled under her breath, "If I'd stolen something, I promise you I'd be three towns away before anybody even knew it was missing." She hummed as she found the sweet spot she'd been looking for. Lars had always poked fun at her for her kleptomaniacal habits, about how unnecessary they were, given her family's standing, given how much she didn't actually need the things she took.

Skuld had never been able to properly explain it to him.

The skills that she needed to pull off her little heists were already there – she'd taught herself to pick locks after her mother had begun confining her to her rooms at night, had learned how to go unnoticed amongst the shadows as she slipped away from the manor through the cover of the evening, had unintentionally figured out how to counterfeit gemstones after attempting to put her own twists on a few of Chezeem's alteration spells.

If anything, it had seemed a waste not to, given that she knew that she _could_ , and, likely, that was how it had started. From there, her curiosity had turned into something more, something addictive. The thrill that crawled up her spine at the notion of being caught, the anticipation at what dirty secrets she might uncover in her infiltration efforts, how long it might take one to even notice they'd been robbed and what their faces would look like when they finally did.

How _livid_ her mother would be, should she ever come to learn of Skuld's - sorry, _Laelia's_ \- double life. How red her cheeks would grow as she realized that her daughter had long ago begun introducing herself by another name, a _Nordic_ name, assuring that every and all manner of people knew of her already highly suspected infidelity.

Skuld briefly wondered if her mother had been angered or relieved by her sudden departure from Cyrodiil, and what explanation she would give, if any, to the family friends and relatives who would inevitably ask after the youngest Silvelli's sudden disappearance.

"No," She sighed, finally coming back to herself, "I was just in the right place at the wrong time." She swung open the cage door.

"Oh? And where exactly would that be?"

Skuld cast her new friend a sideways glance and offered him a crooked smirk, "Well I definitely _wasn't_ illegally crossing the border into Skyrim, if that's what you're getting at."

Ralof huffed a laugh, "That wasn't at all what I was ' _getting at_ ,' but it sure as Oblivion explains a lot."

"Oh _ha-ha_ ," Skuld tossed her chin towards the table that Ralof was leaning against, gesturing to the leather pack propped up on top of it, "Toss that here, could you?"

Ralof complied, leaving her in silence for a moment as she packed the contents of the cage into the bag – it wasn't much, just an alteration spell tome that she must have read a hundred times over back home and a pouch of coins, but it was something. As she fastened the flap of the bag and stood, Ralof spoke up again, "Aren't you a tad young to be… I don't know-"

"Sneaking across the border?" Skuld finished, pulling the straps of the pack over her shoulders, being careful to give Grimm a bit of clearance space so she didn't knock him off. Ralof dropped his head in a curt nod, "I'll have you know, I'm _eighteen_ -" Nineteen in a few months, if she cared to keep track, "-If I'm old enough to be married, I _think_ I'm old enough to be fleeing my homeland." At least that's what she'd told herself every time she'd stopped to consider the possibility that she might be in _way_ over her head.

"You? _fleeing_?" Ralof snorted, "From _what_?"

 _Fate._

Skuld shrugged, picking up the book on the table and looking it over. It was stark black with the insignia of the Imperial Army on the cover and no obvious title to be seen, but something about it drew her attention, "I dunno..." Responsibilities that she hadn't asked for, an arranged marriage that she hadn't agreed to, a shitty family that she didn't want to be a part of, " _Everything_ , I guess." She moved to set the book down, only to decide at the last second to tuck it into a side pocket of her bag, "Does it really matter why I ran? I'm here now, aren't I?"

Ralof didn't answer, but the look on his face might as well have said, ' _No, I suppose not._ '

Skuld sucked in a long breath and clapped her hands together, drawing a questioning look out of her companion, " _Now_ , if you're done trying to coax my sorry excuse for a life story out of me, I'd like to get this metaphorical shit parade back on the proverbial road." She cocked her head towards the door leading out of the dungeons, "Shall we?"

"After you."

* * *

By the time the duo had found their way out of Helgen through a cave system beneath the keep and reached Ralof's hometown, night had fallen and Skuld was feeling fit to collapse onto the ground then and there, fall asleep, and never wake up. She couldn't ever recall feeling so exhausted in her life, though the aftermath of her first day of archery training under one of the Lars' fellow combatants, Ysa, back at the Arena came close.

The muscles in her arms had been so sore that they had verged on numb, and the bowstring had snapped against the inside of her left arm so much that the skin was left raw and bleeding. The next day, Ysa hadn't even allowed her to wear an arm guard or any kind of bandages, waving her hand dismissively and stating in her usual sharp monotone that if Skuld didn't want the wounds to re-open, then she'd best learn how to fire the bow properly.

She hadn't, and she still had a patch of ever so slightly discolored skin on the inside of her forearm to prove it.

"Come on," Ralof urged from his place at Skuld's side, having already slowed his large gait considerably to accommodate to her sluggishness, "My sister's house isn't far now." He reached down to take her wrist in his grasp, leading Skuld around a corner to their right and directing her towards a cluster of houses.

Riverwood was a small village, considerably smaller than what she was used to, but Skuld found it no less charming, in its own way. Due to the late hour, the village was largely deserted, save for a scraggly, one-eyed dog that had taken to lying along the side of the road.

Skuld remained silent as she trailed alongside Ralof, too exhausted to make any attempt at conversation, let alone humor. She was just so… drained. Drained in body, mind, and spirit. All she just wanted to sleep, which made the prospect of meeting anyone new – least of all the sister of her probably-savior – and explaining just what kind of shit they'd waded through to get here an incredibly unattractive prospect.

Finally, Ralof stopped at a large stone house with a fenced off yard. He peered at her for a moment, looking as though he wanted to say something, before shaking his head, exhaling a sigh, and leading her to up to the door. Finally releasing her wrist, (it was something he seemed to do a lot, she'd noticed – clinging to her, that was) he raised his fist to wrap it against the door.

Silence.

He beat his fist against the door again, louder, more forceful, this time. Muffled sound came from within, and Skuld found herself squirming anxiously, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. There was the sound of a deadbolt clunking out of place and the door was pulled open slightly, leaving a tall Nordic woman of an incredibly muscular build to peek through the crack.

"Mara's mercy, Ralof-!" Through the darkness, Skuld saw her eyes widen, and before she knew it, the door was being thrown aside carelessly, the woman rushing out to capture the man in question in what looked to be a particularly crushing hug.

"Gerdur…" Ralof grumbled through her embrace, a mix slight agitation and was seemed to be embarrassment resting at the edges of his tone.

Ralof's sister peeled herself away from him, though her grip remained firmly over her shoulders as she scrutinized him, "We had heard that Ulfric had been captured, and the last we'd seen of you, you'd said that you were to be going off with him on a mission-" There was another exasperated utterance of ' _Gerdur,_ ' from Ralof which, again, went ignored, "-We feared the worst!"

"Gerdur, I'm _fine_." He stressed, and though Skuld couldn't see his face, she was almost certain that he'd just rolled his eyes.

"-You're _hurt_." His sister shot back immediately, "What's happened-" For the first time, Gerdur seemed to notice Skuld from her place at Ralof's side, "-Who's this?" Her eyes flickered to Skuld's face, then to Grim, then, finally, they settled on her attire. Her brows knit together, "One of your comrades?"

Ralof's sigh did little to disguise his dry laugh, "No, not a comrade." His looked her over in his peripheral, "Not yet." He eased, the corners of his lips curling into a tired smile as his gaze shifted back to his sister, "This is…" He trailed off, a look of sudden realization crossing his features.

"-Skuld." Skuld offered up wearily as she realized that the reason Ralof had never referred to her as anything but ' _you_ ,' and ' _Girl_ ,' was because he hadn't the slightest idea what her name was.

" _Skuld_." Ralof repeated her name like he had just agreed to something that he hadn't really thought through yet. A moment passed before he shook his head, attention shifting back to Gerdur, "I owe her my life." Were she not so exhausted, Skuld would have laughed.

Ralof eyed the interior of the house over his sister's shoulder and nodded towards the it, "May we come in? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials…"

"Helgen?" Gerdur echoed, seemingly lost, "Has something happened? What-" She pursed her lips and stepped back from the doorway with a heavy breath, "Come in, I'll fetch Hod." She turned away from the door and paced away, calling out, ' _Hod! Come here, I need your help with something!_ '

Placing a hand between her shoulder blades, as he'd seemed to have develop a habit of doing, Ralof ushered Skuld inside and settled down beside her at a long dining table. Moments later, Gurder returned, this time with a large, musclebound man at her heels that Skuld could only assume to be Hod.

The pair settled at the table across from Ralof and Skuld, looking at them with expectant faces.

It was Hod who broke the silence first, knitting his finger together as he leaned over the tabled intently, "Now, Ralof, what's going on? You two look pretty well done in." It was an understatement, to say the least.

Ralof heaved a sigh, dropping his head, "I can't remember the last time I slept." He murmured, more to himself than them, before combing his hair back with his hand and resting his forehead against the heel of his palm, elbow propped up on the table, "Where to start?"

A few moments passed in silence before he lifted his head, "The news you heard about Ulfric was true. The Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing. Like they knew exactly where we'd be. That was…gods, over a week ago now. We stopped at Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over-" He hadn't been the only one, "-Had us lined up for the headsman's block and ready to start chopping…"

"The cowards!" Gerdur all but growled.

"They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial." Ralof continued, "Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then!" He seemed almost smug, for a moment, before growing sullen yet again, "But then… out of nowhere… a dragon attacked." His head dropped again, broad shoulders growing tense. Skuld reached out, hesitantly placing her palm over his knee in her best (albeit, awkward) attempt to offer him any sort of comfort.

She wasn't good with people, had no friends outside Lars and a few of his fellow gladiators, but it seemed like the right thing to do, like something they might do for her if she was troubled.

Hod sucked in a low breath as Gerdur breathed, "You don't mean a real, live…"

"Yes." Skuld spoke up, her own voice still hoarse. Ralof's large hand found Skuld's own, turning it over and lacing his fingers with hers, "-And whatever you're imagining, I promise you, it was worse."

"I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there…" Ralof agreed, lifting his gaze, "Though, as strange as it sounds, we'd be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away."

Skuld swallowed, and it felt like swallowing a handful of rocks, "Has… Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?" _Hadvar, had he made it?_

Gerdur looked to her, "Nobody has come up the south road today, as far as I know."

"Good." Ralof released her hand, and Skuld recalled it, folding her hands over her lap, "Maybe we can lay up for a while." He sighed, shooting his sister a pointed – if slightly hesitant – look, "I'd hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but…"

"Nonsense," Gerdur assured him, "You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you need." She turned to address Skuld, "Anything friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine; stay as long as you'd like."

"…Thank you." Was Skuld's whispered response.

* * *

 **A.N./** I cannot explain why, but I had so much fun writing the last portion of this chapter (despite the fact it was a lot of regurgitated dialogue) - something to do with exploring the dynamic between Skuld and Ralof, I think? Speaking of, I'm hoping I managed to pull off their relationship progression smoothly and in a way that it didn't seem too rushed - My logic for their sudden "we're super great friends/platonic-partners now" mentality being that they literally just went through an incredibly stressful, life or death situation together and I fell like that sort of thing can create a very strong, very special bond between two people in a very short amount of time.

(I've also been trying to breathe a lot more life into the NPCs and give them more dimension that they've got in the actual game, which in some places is pretty much none. Like, I'm sorry, you just got attacked by a _dragon_ \- a thing of legends that is supposed to be long extinct - and you're somehow just fine and dandy after that? Nah, bruh, nah. PTSD for everybody; _the angst train has no breaks_ ) Rest assured, though, Ralof is a fairly special case in terms of Skuld warming up to people - girl's got trust issues for days and she's not too keen on letting new people into her little bubble of commitment issues.

I also would like to put out there that as prickly as she can be, she's very used to having someone - Lars - around that she can rely on and lean on for emotional support, so she's also let her guard down a lot with Ralof because she's scared as shit and kind of homesick and would feel incredibly lost if she didn't have somebody to lean on.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Reviews are always appreciated! Until next time :)


	4. Recovery

The next morning, Skuld was roused from her death-like sleep when something coarse and furry began tickling the underside of her nose. She crinkled her nose, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter as her brows furrowed, one hand coming up to swipe lazily at the air above her face. Whatever had been accosting her retreated, and Skuld was contented to try and fall back asleep.

As soon as she did, the tickling returned. This time she swatted at the air more vehemently, groaning softly under her breath, "Grim, cut it _the fuck_ out."

"Who's Grim?" a boyish voice inquired from above her. Skuld's eyes snapped open and a sneer found it's way across her face as she took in the sight of a young boy perched above her, a single stalk of wheat in hand.

He stared at her as she reached up and yanked the wheat from his hand, the look on his face a mix of surprise and childish wonderment as she snapped it in half and let it fall to the floor, "Your eyes are two different colors!"

 _Gods,_ sometimes Skuld _hated_ children.

"I hadn't noticed." Came her flat retort as she sat up from her place on the floor of Hod and Gerdur's home, atop a straw bedroll that they'd fetched for her to sleep on the night before. Looking around, she found the house empty, save for the brat. Even Grim was nowhere to be seen.

"Really? Well, one is dark brown like mud and the other one is white like the moon." He declared, proud at his descriptive use of metaphor, or something to those ends, as Skuld stood.

" _Fascinating_." Her body was stiff, and her muscles were still ridiculously sore, though not nearly in as terrible a way as yesterday. It was less burning pain, more the familiar ache of ' _man, you got up to some_ shit _yesterday!_ ' Skuld raised her arms above her head in a yawned stretch, shoulders popping as her back cracked in at least four different places.

Her stomach grumbled, and she found herself wandering over to the hearth to inspect the array of food that had accumulated there. The brat trailed after her, accosting her with one blatantly insulting question and/or statement after the next as Skuld went about crunching on an apple.

"What happened to your face?"

"Mauled by a hill."

"Your voice is really deep."

"So I've been told."

"Why is your hair so short?"

"Youthful rebellion."

"What's that?"

"Ya'know," Skuld began, speaking lazily around a mouthful of apple, twirling a lazy finger, "when you do something to get a rise out of the older folks around you."

"Like a prank?!" She swore his eyes had just grown three sizes.

Skuld finished chewing and swallowed, " _Yeah_ -" She agreed sardonically, "- _like a prank_." Except not at all like a prank, but Skuld wasn't about to encourage the brat anymore than she already was in order to explain that concept to him.

The boy rocked energetically back and forth on the balls of his feet, blissfully unaware of how much Skuld really didn't want to be conversing with him right now, "I love pranks! I play them all the time!" He stopped rocking and crossed his arms over his chest, which he puffed out resolutely, "Maybe, if you're nice enough to me, I'll teach you a few of 'em." He said it like it would be the greatest honor to ever be bestowed upon her.

Instead of indulging the brat further, Skuld finished off her apple and tossed the core into the fire, "Where are Ralof and your parents?" She finally asked, thinking it safe to assume the blonde pigmy belonged to Hod and Gerdur.

The boy's face fell, "They're all down at the mill, _working_." He seemed particularly bitter about that last part, rolling his eyes as he grumbled it through scowling lips.

Skuld sighed, "Well, if they ask after me, tell them that I've gone up along the river to the southwest." Skuld hadn't paid the river any mind as they'd passed it on their way to Riverwood, having only been concerned with finding somewhere to pass out, but now that she was rested and awake, she wanted desperately for somewhere to scrub the dirt, soot, and dried blood from her skin.

"You aren't the boss of me." The child state stubbornly, all signs of his previous wonderment gone.

Skuld found herself rolling her eyes as she picked up the fresh change of those that somebody – presumably Gerdur – had set aside for her and stuffed them into her pack, "Look, tell them or don't." She recovered her bow and quiver from the doorframe, slinging them over her shoulder with her pack, "I really don't give two fat ones either way." And with that eloquent show of maturity, she was out the door.

* * *

It took Skuld what seemed like an eternity to find a section of the river that she fancied. In the end, she'd strayed much farther from the village than she'd intended to, but at the payoff that she knew herself to be relatively alone and away from any prying eyes.

She made quick work of peeling herself out of the bloodied Stormcloak garb that she'd slept in, continuing to strip down until she was left in nothing but her smallclothes. Then, after making sure that her bow would be within her reach, should she need it, she slipped into the water.

It was cold, dreadfully so, compared to what she was used to, but she grew accustomed to it quickly enough. Soon, she came to find the frigid temperature almost therapeutic against her aching muscles, and had even managed to stop jumping out of her skin every time a fish brushed up against her in passing.

She lost track of how long she waded in the river, neck deep in the icy water as she leaned back against the bank. It didn't seem right to be so at peace after what had happened yesterday, just a few, short miles up the road. A large part of her still couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't believe that she, of all people, had been able to make it out.

What was she to do now? Was she just supposed to forget that she'd seen a bloody dragon, that said bloody dragon had almost killed her? Skuld let out a deep sigh and sucked in a breath before submerging herself fully in the river and allowing the water to wash over her face.

The gouges over her lips and the tip of her nose had re-opened when she'd tried to wash the grime from them earlier, as had the deep split that cut across the indented dimple of her chin. Her face stung as she held it beneath the current, allowing the water to wash away the blood that now flowed freely from the cuts.

They would scar, she had concluded after catching sight of her reflection in the water earlier, they would _definitely_ scar.

Skuld wasn't vain by any means, but she'd been rather fond of her face – it had taken a while (around sixteen years, if she was being honest) to warm up to the… _intensity_ of her features, but she had and now, quite frankly, she was more than just a little bit depressed. For almost her entire life she'd been lamenting over the inky blackness of her hair, the square curvature of her jawline, the puffiness of her lips, always pouting, and her thick, angular brows, but she'd gotten over it. She'd gotten over it so much that she'd actually found herself thinking, on more than one occasion, that she was passably attractive, if not slightly above average looking.

She'd even, more recently, gotten over the way that the silver-white glassiness of her right iris clashed against the dark, muddled hue of her left, gotten over how the sharp, almost catlike shape of them was so eerily akin to her mother's own eyes. ( _Gee_ , it was it was almost as if they were _related_ or something.)

It was unfair. Unfair that after so many years of self-hatred, she'd come to accept what she looked like only to slide face first down a rocky embankment while running for her life and find herself right back where she started.

 _Ugh._

Skuld tried not to dwell on the thought as she surfaced, reaching back to pluck up a scrap of cloth, wetting it in the river, then pressing it over her mouth in an attempt to soak up the crimson liquid.

"Perhaps you should have Gerdur take a look at that." Ralof's voice spoke up from behind her, and Skuld drew the now blood-stained cloth from her face and sighed.

"How did I know you'd find your way out here?" She inquired, shifting against the bank so that she might look up at him. He had exchanged his Stormcloak cuirass for a much more inconspicuous white shirt and a pair of brown trousers, and it looked as though he'd taken a bath of his own at some point, the grime that had been caked on his skin long gone.

Grim was perched on his shoulder, like the little deserter he was.

Ralof shrugged his shoulders back, a barely-there smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, "Frodnar told me where I could find you; I thought you might have gone fishing." The sly amusement just barely hiding behind his thick Nordic accent betrayed him.

" _Mmhm_."

" _Hey now_ ," Ralof laughed as he sat himself down beside her at the edge of the riverbed, "Mind what you go around insinuating, Girl. One of these days you might offend the wrong person." Skuld had noticed that even after learning her name, he'd still been consistently calling her Girl. She couldn't be bothered to kick up any sort of fuss about it; anything was better than her brother's pet name for her.

"Who's to say that I haven't already?" She asked with a crooked grin as she pressed the rag tenderly to her chin. It stung to smile – burned, more like – and she could taste the metallic twang of the blood that had seeped into her mouth (Skuld was almost certain that her teeth were coated red), but the comically disturbed look that passed over Ralof's face at the sight of her made it worth it.

"You _really_ should have Gerdur take a look at that."

"'ts _fine_ , I'll make up a salve for it later." Skuld waved a hand dismissively. She had already picked the things she'd need for it on the way up the river.

If she wanted to, she could have just healed it herself with a bit of restoration magic, but it felt like cheating. It wouldn't change the fact that the cuts would scar, and it wouldn't change what had happened, so what was the point? Honestly, after all the things that she'd seen in Helgen, she almost felt like she _deserved_ to put up with the pain, like it was the very least she could do after getting away practically unscathed when so many others – so many people better than her – had gone down in flames.

 _-Gods,_ she could still smell it; the gut wrenching scent of scalded flesh, bubbling as it melted from bone, sizzling as it slopped against the ground and mingled with the dirt. She could still hear the screams of agony and the hyper trill of dragon fire whenever she closed her eyes, could feel the heat of the flames against her skin and the hot breath of the beast on her neck.

She'd been trying all day not to imagine what had become of Hadvar after they'd disappeared behind the doors of the keep, regretting every second that she hadn't spoken up, hadn't done _everything_ within her power to drag him along with them.

"How's your side?" Ralof's voice broke her out of her sullen daze, and Skuld could feel his eyes spanning the thick purple bruises that had overtaken the majority of her left side, the result of her crash landing through the roof after Ralof had tossed her out of the tower.

"Sore." She eyed the older man out of her periphery. His legs were crossed in front of him, shoulders scrunched up as he leaned forwards, arms braced against the ground within the circle of his calves. The pose was tense – defensive, even – and Skuld realized that she wasn't the only one still hung up on yesterday's happenings. A small bruise had formed on his right cheekbone, the product of her pegging him in the face the day prior, and Skuld resisted the urge to comment on it snidely, if only because she had no idea where she would even go from there in terms of coherent, not-awkward, conversation.

With a ragged sigh, she pushed her short locks back off her forehead and turned against the bank, bracing her arms against the thick grass and pulling herself out of the water. She refrained from making any move to dress herself right away, lest she soak her new clothes needlessly, and instead opted to sit silently at Ralof's side as the warmth of the sun slowly scared the moisture from her skin.

They sat like that for a long time, neither one making any attempt at conversation as they stared into the river. At some point, Grim had descended from his place atop Ralof's shoulder to rub his face against Skuld's arm. She grimaced, pulling away from his touch and rubbing the loosed fur from her damp skin, detesting how it clung to her.

Once Skuld deemed her smallclothes dry enough to be fitted beneath fabric, she stood, taking the fresh change of clothes with her, and began to dress herself. The fit wasn't perfect, but it was leagues better than the oversized cuirass that Gunjar had supplied her with. In the end, Skuld found the leather trousers comfortable enough, if a bit tight, and was pleased with the way the sleeveless white tunic hung loosely from her shoulders. The leather boots were a bit too big as well, but snug enough that they wouldn't fall from her feet when she walked.

Overall, she found the outfit satisfactory, if not a bit plain for her taste.

As she gathered her things, Grim scrambled up her pantleg and disappeared beneath the flap of her pack, while Ralof continued to stare aimlessly ahead. Unable to stand the silence for any longer, Skuld said, "So, I don't know about you, but I'm planning on getting piss drunk when we get back." She offered Ralof her hand, "You wanna join me, or what?"

Ralof looked up at her, a slow smile skittering across his face as he accepted her hand and pulled himself to his feet, "Sounds like a solid plan, if I ever heard one."

"Good, because the first round is on you."

* * *

Weeks later, the deep gouges peppering the lower half of Skuld's face had finally begun to scab and scar over, and the bastard child was finally beginning to adjust to life in Skyrim. She had moved out of Gerdur and Hod's house to take up (what she hoped would be temporary) residence in the Sleeping Giant Inn, paying for her stay with the septims she earned doing various odd jobs around the village.

It was slow work, it didn't pay well, and her efforts went largely unappreciated by the locals, but somehow, she found herself enjoying it. It was oddly… _liberating_ , to be so unburdened by the responsibilities that had once chained her to her homeland, to not dread what horrible thing tomorrow would inevitably bring.

Today, Ralof was setting out from Riverwood, planning to make the journey northeast to Windhelm in order to rejoin the bulk of Ulfric Stormcloak's forces. Skuld was sad to see him leaving, and had tried to convince him not to several times, but she had gotten over it quickly, eventually wishing him luck and urging him to write her upon his safe arrival.

" _Yes, Ma._ " Ralof laughed at her fussing as the pair stood at the start of the bridge leading out of town, earning him a light, backhanded smack to his cuirass. The Nord caught her wrist, lips twitching into a self-assured smirk. He stared at her a beat too long, something like proud fondness creeping into the clarity of his blue irises, "You worry too much." He stated matter-o-factly, tone dipping low, into something warm.

"I think I worry _just_ enough, thank you very much." She chided, snatching her hand away from the handsy man, miffed that she'd been caught. Skuld hated it when he called her out on her hovering, hated it even more that he seemed to take such an immense amount of pleasure in teasing her about it.

A smug little prick, he was.

The nord leaned down, reclaiming her hand again and threading his fingers through with hers. (Skuld didn't think she would ever get used to his endless touching.) He tapped his thumb against the side of her hand idly, "You shouldn't." He stated simply. Before Skuld could open her mouth to argue the point further, he snatched her nose between the fingers of his free hand, pinching it while remaining vaguely mindful of the nearly-healed wound there. "I'll be _fine._ " Skuld wrangled her hand away from him and swatted at him until he released her with a poorly concealed chuckle.

"-And you will write me a letter to tell me as much _as soon_ as you get there." Skuld snapped, thoroughly annoyed that he couldn't wipe the look of amusement from his face for long enough to take her seriously. Because, honestly, how was she supposed to stay sane in this village without the older man to defuse her? Who would keep her from exploding if she had to deal _one more time_ with the whole Sven/Camilla/Faendal situation? Who would stop her from attempting to sew Frodnar's mouth shut in his sleep to cease his _endless_ bombardment of chatter? Who would silently help her return all the random shit she'd stolen (because she had absolutely zero self-control, where thievery was concerned) before their owners noticed them to be missing?

Ralof just laughed at her and reached down to tuck a strand of her overgrown hair behind her ear. He tilted her head up, snatching her chin between his fingers as he leaned town to thump his forehead against her own. His eyes rolled skyward before coming down to meet her heterochromatic irises, " _Yes, Ma_." He drawled again, voice thick with teasing.

Skuld pressed her palms to his shoulders, easing him away from her as she found herself unable to suppress a hearty snort, "Okay, you _need_ to stop calling me that. You've gotta be close to twice my age, and, frankly, it's kind of creepy." Over the last week, after Ralof had realized just _how much_ she had a tendency to hover – she swore, it wasn't even something she consciously did – she had graduated from ' _Girl_ ' to ' _Ma_ ' almost overnight.

" _Hmmm…_ " Ralof hummed, feigning contemplation as his hands fell heavy over her shoulders, smoothing over her arms as they trailed down to settle over her waist, "No." He gave her waist a squeeze and Skuld jolted, annoyed at how terribly sensitive she was there, the product of years of Lars digging his fingers into her sides like daggers when she least expected it. Her brother had thought it was _hilarious_ to watch Skuld trill and squirm away from him in pain, and apparently, so did Ralof, "It suits you too much." He pressed a feather-light kiss fondly to the tip of her nose, right over the soft scar tissue beginning to form there, before seeing himself out of her personal space before he overstayed his welcome.

"You could always come with me, you know." Ralof suggested jokingly as he mounted his horse, "Who's to say; I might be able to make a proper soldier out of you yet!" His bark of laughter betrayed the sentiment of his words, and Skuld's face fell into a state of deadpan.

She rolled her eyes, scoffing loudly, "There's about a good a chance of that as there is my left tit being named the new High King."

" _Skuld,_ " The older man chuckled, taking up the reigns of his mare and steering the horse towards the road ahead, "You are _incorrigible_."

The Nordic-Imperial mutt tilted her head to the side, one knuckle coming to rest below her chin as she offered her friend a crooked smirk, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

* * *

 **A.N./ Okay, so, truth time - I may or may not have finished this chapter a week and a half ago, updated it on Ao3, and completely forgot to update here? Oops?**

 **-Anyways, I swear we're getting to the end of the introduction; if all goes as planed, next time Skuld will get around to the golden claw quest line and after that will be headed to Whiterun. Honestly, this chapter was mostly just a recovery period for the babes after Helgen, because way too many people gloss over just how much what happened there can fuck someone mentally, especially if that someone is a teenager who's never been in a life or death situation before.**

 **This is also where we're going to start diverging from cannon a lot, though. Namely because I've got to keep finding new, believable, and sometimes hilarious ways to trick Skuld into progressing through the main quest line all while keeping her in character. (Because she's the kind of person who takes one look at a situation, decides it looks _way_ too suspiciously like the beginnings of some epic journey, says "Absolutely not." and then proceeds to walk in the exact _opposite_ direction.)**

 **Also, thank you to those who have favorited, followed, and commented so far! It means a lot to me that people are enjoying the unorthodox approach I'm taking with my dragonborn, and it really helps motivate me to write more 3**


	5. The Golden Claw I

"Messenger stopped in. Letter for you," Orgnar informed Skuld one night as she returned to the Sleeping Giant a few weeks later, thoroughly exhausted from a day spent meticulously tracking down and wiping out a pack of wolves that had been causing trouble lately along the road.

Normally, this is when she would join Gerdur, Hod, and Frodnar for supper, but tonight she was so tired that she couldn't fathom entertaining the thought.

Skuld stifled a yawn against the back of her hand as she lumbered over to the Nord, plucking up the letter he held towards her and depositing a handful of septims onto the bar. "My usual." She hummed, turning to lean against the counter as she picked open the wax seal. Her eyes skimmed over parchment and she barked a laugh.

 _Arrived in Windhelm this morning. Didn't die - shocking, I know._

 _-Ralof_

"I've rubbed off on that man _way_ too much." Skuld explained half-heartedly at Orgnar's wary look, folding the letter and tucking it into the back waistband of her pants as the barkeep set a tankard of wine down beside her arm. Skuld scooped up the drink gratefully, eager to get her lips around the beverage after the day she'd had.

She'd thought sliding down a hill on her face had hurt- _ha!_ That was before she'd had her forearm gnawed on by a wolf. Despite her use of a healing spell, the fresh scar over the wound still ached where the beast's teeth had carved through her flesh to meet bone.

"Ralof?" Orgnar asked, though his deep gruff, as usual, sounded wholly uninterested.

" _Mmm._ " Skuld hummed around the rim of her cup. "Told him to write me when he arrived in Windhelm. Arse sends me two sentences of sass. Joke's on him, though." She lazed as she pushed off the bar to head towards her room, wine in hand, "He's the one who paid to have it delivered."

In her room, as she sipped her wine, she fell into her usual schedule, sewing up any puncture marks or tears in her hunting furs, counting out her coin and recording both that and the days expenses in her journal, then marking down what she had planned for the next day and anything she might need to accomplish it. (More than once, she could hear Ralof in the back of her head muttering about Imperials and lists.) It was familiar, comfortable, and gave her something to do as she combatted the ache seeded deep in her arm.

Then, once she'd completed her nightly ritual, she tore a blank piece of parchment from her journal and wrote out a letter, not to Ralof, but to Lars, which was something she'd been dancing around and avoiding since she'd gotten to Skyrim.

He had urged – very _strongly_ urged – her to write him and tell him all the details of her journey as soon as she could, but after Helgan, Skuld hadn't known how. Now, she supposed, she was established enough that she might be able to withoutmentioning _those_ particulars, because if anybody would risk traipsing across the border to drag her ass back home at the slightest insinuation of too much danger for her to handle, (and she was pretty sure that dragons qualified) it was him.

True to form, this tasked proved to be just as difficult as Skuld had thought it would be, and before the night was through she had almost given up more times than she could count. It finally took realizing that he was probably driving the others crazy with his all his hammering away at the forge (call it a nervous habit of his) and that if she didn't put him out of his misery and _soon_ , Ysa would probably strangle him with a bowstring any day now, provided she hadn't already.

She could almost see Chezeem and Jin'ra dragging the ex-assassin away from her brother (who, knowing him, was probably nervously hammering up a storm, completely oblivious) and assuring her that soon, any week now, a letter from Skuld would come and they would all be able to sleep again.

So, after writing and scrapping what had to be a dozen letters, Skuld finally spit something out that was an equal mix of truth and omission (he had this annoying proclivity for being able to spot her bullshit from miles away) that she didn't immediately want to turn into kindling and chuck into the nearest hearth.

 _Lars,_

 _Things have been… hectic around here, to say the least, so I haven't been able to write you until now. Crossing the border turned out to be a lot more difficult than I'd initially thought it to be. Well, that's not entirely true. The_ crossing _part was actually quite easy, it was the_ after _that was balls annoying. But you know me, I just couldn't resist crossing the border and walking right into a bandit ambush._

Somehow saying she was intercepted by highwaymen seemed preferable to what had actually happened, which sounded twenty times more outlandish and lethal in writing, as proved to her by attempt number three, alternatively titled: ' _The Truth and Nothing But; 101 Reasons You Should Definitely Drag My Ass Back Home._ '

 _Before you freak out, (Are you pacing? Stop pacing. You know how twitchy it makes Jin'ra.) I'm perfectly fine. Walked away with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises, thanks to a new friend of mine, Ralof, stumbling upon me when he did. He brought me back to his village with him and I stayed with him at his sister's house for a few days before I had the coin to move into the local inn._

 _"But, Silvie," You're probably thinking, "that doesn't explain why you didn't write!"_

 _Well, I was busy, and by busy, I mean that I got so wrapped up in trying to settle in here and find work, that I may or may not have completely forgotten… Yes, I know I'm an idiot, you don't need to shout it for the whole of the Imperial City to hear._

 _Anyways, it's just been exhausting, and_ a lot _of getting used to living out in the sticks… but I like it. It suits me, I think. I don't want to say I'm happy,_ period _, because things could definitely be better, but I'm sure as shit happier here than I've been back home in a long time, so I think… I think I made the right call._

 _I'll write again when I have more to say. I just got home after a long day of hunting and I'm exhausted. I'm sorry if I don't sound like myself, but I'm doing just fine, so you don't need to come rescue me just yet. (Seriously, I can almost hear you strapping on your armor now. Stop, there's a reason I haven't told you where I am.)_

 _-Your very much alive and well sister, Skuld_

 _P.S. Give everyone my best, starting with an apology for what I'm sure has been months of sleepless nights and ringing ears._

It seemed stiff and formal – formal coming from her, at least – and not at all like the Skuld that she'd been when she'd set out from Cyrodiil, but she hoped that it would sound enough like herself to put her brother at ease.

Before turning in for the night, she returned her now empty wine tankard to Orgnar and, after sealing her letter, left it in his capable hands alongside a small pouch of septims, so that he might pawn it off on the next messenger that stops by.

* * *

The next day, when Skuld stopped into the Riverwood Trader to procure some more arrows for her bow, Lucan and Camilla were in the middle of screaming at each other. Skuld froze in the doorway, moving backwards slowly with the intention of seeing herself out of the argument that was clearly not meant for her ears.

Of course, because the Gods hated her with every fiber of their obnoxiously divine beings, Lucan spotted her at that exact moment.

"Skuld!" he called out, not very subtly dismissing his sister and effectively shutting down their argument. Camilla scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest with a harrumph as she stalked over to her usual seat in the corner of the shop. "So sorry you had to hear that," He cleared his throat, "What can I get for you today?"

Skuld looked over Camilla warily, eyes dancing from the town's most eligible bachelorette to her brother before she finally stepped towards the counter, "Arrows." She sounded out, voice cautious.

"Of course!" Lucan chirped forcibly, way too cheery for Skuld's liking, as he turned to sort through his inventory, "How many?" He asked over his shoulder, and Skuld could feel Camilla's eyes digging into the back of her skull.

"Three dozen should be enough." Skuld mustered, shifting awkwardly on the balls of her feet.

"How fared your hunt yesterday?" Camilla piped up from behind them, tone calculatory, "I heard you accepted the bounty Hod put on the wolves roaming the North road."

Skuld laughed, and it emerged dead from her throat as her hand came down to finger the freshly healed indentations in her left forearm where the alpha wolf's jaws had taken hold of her, "Ehheh… It probably could have gone _better_ … but, hey, I got paid, so I really can't complain."

Lucan emerged from his stock with the arrows, bound together in bundles of twelve with cords of twine, and set them down on the counter as Skuld counted out her coin. _Let's see… six per bundle, so that's six, twelve, eighteen for the lot of them._ She deposited the coin and dropped her pack down off her shoulder, stuffing two of the bundles inside before untying the third and slipping it into her quiver.

"So, you filled the bounty? Does that mean that your services are free today?" Camilla inquired as Skuld turned away from the older Valerius. At some point, the Imperial had relinquished her seat to pace over to Skuld, and was currently a bit too up in her personal space for her liking.

"I mean…" She shifted back, "They're not _free_ free, but they're _available_ , if that's what you're getting at." Camilla shot her brother a pointed look over Skuld's shoulder and cleared her throat loudly, eyes bugging as she pointed them to Skuld indicatively.

Skuld sighed, turning back to Lucan, "I take it you've got a job for me?"

* * *

A golden claw, a golden _ruddy_ claw. Skuld didn't know whether to be annoyed because Lucan had just left something like that _lying_ about, or angry because she hadn't seen it and swiped it for herself first.

 _No, stop that_. _You're an honest bloody woman now. Stop._ She chided herself inwardly as she traipsed up the mountainside.

Skuld had been trying not to steal things since Ralof had left. Trying really, _really_ hard. But she had quickly come to the conclusion that it was mostly impossible, because there always seemed to come a time when she would see something, and she would just _need it._ Need it like her life depended on it, like walking away from it would cause her actual, tangible pain and it _sucked_. And with Ralof no longer around to pin her wrists together and steer her in the opposite direction, distracting her with terrible one-liners until the urge subsided, she quickly found herself falling back into her old habits. Worse yet, (or possibly better, depending on how you looked at it) the things that she wished to snatch were usually small, worthless things that made absolutely _no sense_ to swipe.

Three days ago, for example, she had stolen the latch from a window. Why? She had no explanation other than it had seemed like something she'd needed _desperately_ at the time.

Looking back on it, the need to take things had always been there, it just had never really stood out to Skuld in her mind as something she had no control over, probably because it wasn't exactly like she'd been trying to fight her urges all that hard.

Suddenly, though, she could recall dozens of instances from her early years that she'd just written off as things that all children must do. How many times her mother or sister had just barely stopped her six-year-old self from walking out of a shop with something stuffed beneath her skirts, how many more times they hadn't because she'd learned what she could and couldn't get away with smuggling.

It was always stupid things back then, too. Colorful marbles, silk ribbons, pressed flowers, or embroidery beads on strings. It was only when she beat the urge to the punch, scratching before the itch had time to rear its ugly head, that she had the sense of mind to swipe things of actual worth.

The winds pelting against the mountain stung like needles, drawing Skuld away from her thoughts and back to the task at hand.

She'd feel much more comfortable if she knew what she was walking into. Knew exactly how many thieves she would be dealing with, because she hadn't combated humanoid enemies since dispatching a group of bandits from mine near town a few weeks ago, and that had been a bloody damn chore that she was not looking to repeat.

Killing people? Still sucked, believe it or not. Skuld could do it without vomiting now, sure. For the most part, her hands didn't even shake, she didn't hesitate, and she didn't find herself reflecting on the faces of those she'd downed nearly as much as before- but that was all a far cry from setting out with the intent to spill blood.

A storm began to brew as Skuld continued along the vague path up the mountain, and she hugged her furs around herself, mentally noting that the next time work brought her anywhere near the mountain she would need to wrap her feet in a few layers of cloth or something before stuffing them into her boots, because she was starting to lose feeling in her toes.

"Better be getting paid bloody _great_ for this." She found herself muttering.

* * *

The storm grew, quickly evolving into a blizzard, and when Skuld finally spotted a tower through the flurry with bandits camped outside? Well, suffice to say she had to stop herself from crying out in delight.

Using the storm as cover, she dropped into a low crouch and edged closer, shrugging her bow off her shoulder and prepping an arrow in advance. It was hard to see and even harder to hear as Skuld crept up on the tower, but she was fairly certain that there were only two bandits on outside watch duty, one of them huddled by a fire, the other leaning against a tree and trying to look like he wasn't freezing.

Which, who knows, maybe he wasn't. Frankly, the Nordic body's resistance to below freezing temperatures was something Skuld could never quite wrap her head around. Sure, she'd seemed to inherit some of said resistance from her father, but she was _leagues_ away from Ralof and the rest of them. Point being that she, unlike them, could _not_ safely traverse a blizzard wearing something that barely constituted as a shirt.

Skuld found her way behind a curious assortment of stacked rocks with a small hole through the center, and peered through it, careful as to not knock it over in the process, as she strategized.

The first kill would be easy, but neither of the bandits on watch were positioned in a way that they wouldn't notice should the other fall. One arrow, one less bandit, sure. But with that bandit went her element of surprise, which was really all that she had.

Skuld preferred to control the flow of a fight from a distance, manipulating her targets into walking where it suited her, never giving them any chance to touch her. She used her environment, laid traps, lied in wait, was patient. It was ironic, she knew, considering that in every other aspect of her life she was brash and headstrong, but it was her way.

Close quarters combat didn't suit her because she panicked. It had taken getting into a real life or death situation for her to finally be able to place her thumb on why, though. She could get one, perhaps two good hits in, but the moment that someone was up in her space, coming at her fast and deadly, it was like her brain had stopped working. Like everything she knew about defending herself just fizzled away into nothing, until all that was left was flailing arms and white-hot fear.

But with a bow she could hang back, take her time, be meticulous, be _careful_. She decided when she got to attack, when she got to defend, not them, because she didn't _let_ them. She felt in control that way, and it was only when she was in control that she was able to think properly.

But sitting in the snow now, in the middle of a blizzard, on the side of a mountain, with hardly any environment to utilize, she hadn't a clue what to do and she sure as shit did not feel in control of the situation.

Arkay's arse, what would Ysa say?

 _Don't panic. Think standard procedure: What do you usually do?_

Confuse and control. Mislead and take advantage. Divide and conquer.

 _Now do it._

Peeking just ever-so-slightly out from behind her cover, Skuld pulled the glove on her right hand off with her teeth and waited for an opening. The guard leaned up against the tree glanced away, down to reply to something the one at the fire must have said. Skuld moved quickly, ducking out further and casting a magelight spell on the ground, splitting the difference between where she hid and where the guards were stationed.

Skuld reared back, quickly retreating behind her cover again and fumbling her hand back into her glove as she waited for the guard to look back up and take notice. He did, almost immediately, likely having caught its sudden appearance in his periphery.

Skuld watched through the peephole as the guard's stance grew instantly defensive, hand falling to the sword on his hip and drawing it from its sheath. His head cocked to the side slightly, eyes never leaving the orb of floating light as he called out to his companion. The bandit by the fire rose, nocking an arrow in his bow and turning to pull back, fixing his gaze on the light.

Skuld worried her bottom lip as she waited, tongue falling into the now-familiar crevasse of one of her scars as her hand fell back to the arrow already prepped in her bow. The pair drew closer, slowly, cautiously, unsure what it was they were looking at. A few feet in and the bowman halted, seeing fit to stay where he was and cover his partner from a distance. Skuld readied herself and waited.

The swordsman was nearly upon the magelight now, head cocking in confusion as he squinted at it through the flurry. He extended his blade awkwardly, fixing to prod it, but as soon as his blade invaded the light's space – as if Skuld had somehow timed it perfectly – the spell fizzled, light evaporating into nothing.

The swordsman jumped, startled, then finally looked back to his companion, shrugging his shoulders.

 _Now._

Skuld moved from her cover, drawing her bowstring and aiming for the air a foot to the left of the bowman's head and a few ticks above to compensate for the wind. She let the arrow fly and it found it's home in the man's throat, dropping him with a spray of crimson over the snow and a gurgle she couldn't hear over the storm, but knew to be there.

Not really what she'd been aiming for, but the result was the same, she supposed.

The swordsman's head whipped back around, eyes locking on her a beat too late as she was already nocking another arrow. She drew her bow and let it loose, angling her shot a bit higher than the last once, satisfied when the arrow embedded itself in the bandit's eye socket.

Skuld let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and advanced on the tower, thankful that the snow wasn't yet too high – just up to her ankles – as she readied another arrow, fixing it at the archway of the tower. As she drew nearer, a figure stepped through and she dispatched him easily, knowing now just how much she needed to compensate for the wind.

To the tower now, she nocked another arrow as she stepped over the corpse of the bandit in the doorway and swung her body inside, pulling back her bowstring and aiming up the stairs to her right. She waited, listening for any indication of someone else being in the tower. One minute ticked by, then two, then three.

Skuld didn't like it.

Two bandits on watch out in a blizzard while one sat inside with his thumb up his ass? Skuld didn't think so. There _had_ to be more.

She proceeded slowly, picking her steps carefully and turning to back up the stairs, aim pointed up towards the unknown. She reached the top with no issue, eyes flitting around on high alert. She did not like this _at all_. The feeling only grew in magnitude when she spotted the only way for her to climb higher: a precarious looking ramp tacked onto the outside of the tower without so much as a railing to keep someone from falling.

Skuld proceeded with caution, dread churning in her gut as she found the ramp slick with slush beneath her boots. As she climbed she was forced to drop her hand from her bow more than once to catch herself from sliding down. After what seemed like an eternity she reached the top, but just as she was about to turn into the doorway, a pair of hands shoved her back and _fuck everything_ because she _really_ should have seen that coming.

* * *

 **A.N./** Skuld has a really terrible track record when it comes to towers.

I'm not super proud of this chapter, but I hit a wall with it halfway through and this is as satisfactory as I was able to get it without ripping my hair out in the process. Didn't help that I haven't written actual fight scenes in what seems like an eternity so I'm super rusty. Ah well, at least we've finally got the plot ball rolling. This chapter also ended up being way longer than I anticipated (it only covers about a third of what I was hoping to) so I had to cut it off for the sake of just wanting to be able to update for you guys. I'm expecting it to be three, if not four, parts at the most, though.


	6. The Golden Claw II

Skuld scrambled, dropping her bow to blindly grab at the archway of the tower, the fingers of her left hand just barely managing to latch onto the side of the doorway as her assailant followed through on their shove. She swung out the door, back connecting hard against the wall of the tower as the air was knocked from her lungs. She shook herself out of her shock quickly and wrenched her hand away from the doorway just in time for an ax to connect with the stone.

 _Balls_.

The bandit, clad in heavy banded armor, was advancing on her, _fast_ , and Skuld was instantly reminded of every reason ever why she hated taking jobs like this, why she'd been so hesitant to take another now that Ralof wasn't around to back her up: _because she couldn't bloody fight close-quarters, damn it!_

She just barely dodged another furious ax swing, the momentum of her drop forcing to her slip back a few ticks on the ramp. Not knowing what else to do, Skuld lunged forwards and hooked her arm around the back of the bandit's knees, fingers closing over the back of one of his calves, and pulled towards herself with as much strength as she could muster.

The warrior's feet came out from under him, the leg she'd grabbed kicking out and nailing Skuld in the face as the man slid down, bowling into her. Blood flowed freely from her nose as the pair of them was sent careening down the icy ramp, and it was all Skuld could do to grab desperately at the tower and the lip of the ramp to slow their descent enough that they didn't go flying off the end. When they finally slid to a stop, a tangle of twisted limbs and snagged armor pieces, there was a period of about five seconds in which the two of them just laid there, chest heaving, minds reeling, before they both simultaneously came back to their senses.

Skuld brought her knee up fast as the man tried to scramble off her, catching the underside of his chin before kicking out into his collar as he rose. As the man tried to right himself, Skuld reached over her shoulder, one hand still clinging to the lower doorway of the tower, feeling desperately around her quiver for an arrow because there wasn't a chance in Oblivion that she'd manage to get back to her feet before the bandit recovered.

Most of her arrows had been lost in the scuffle, spilling out of her quiver and off the side, but not all of them. Her fingers closed around one as the bandit came at her again, his ax no longer in hand. (Dropped when he'd fallen, Skuld would wager) Skuld wrenched her left hand away from the doorway, raising her arm up in a feeble attempt to block as the man came down on her. Forearm braced against his chest, a pair of hands closes around Skuld's throat as she pulled her arrow free from its quiver.

Air cut off, Skuld stabbed at the man's upper torso with the arrow, desperately searching for a break in the armor that she could slot it through. On her fifth stab, her arrow found it's home beneath the man's right pauldron. The coinciding hand loosened it's grasp ever so slightly as the man above her let out a cry, and Skuld managed to suck in a gasp of air before it tightened again.

Skuld twisted at the arrow, pulling it out and driving it deeper as she freed one of her legs from beneath the bandit's knee where it had been pinned. _A spell! Shit, what spells do I know that I can-_ The man lifted Skuld by her throat and slammed her down, forcing what little she had left from her lungs and dulling her train of thought as her mind grew hazy, white fuzz nipping at the edges of her vision.

 _What if- What if I-_ Skuld slid her hand up from it's place against the bandit's chest piece, pushing it into his face, casting a magelight spell in her palm and forcing it into her assailant's eyes. The man above her screamed, hands loosening around Skuld's throat as one pulled away to claw at his face in a panicked attempt of ceasing the assault on his eyes. The hand left over Skuld's throat was weak and fumbling, just barely gripping her anymore as Skuld coughed through an attempt to catch her renewed breath.

Not allowing the spell to leave her palm as it grew to engulf the bandit's face, Skuld moved her hand to grip the left side of his face, freed leg moving to hook around the woman's own as Skuld shifted her weight. Pushing the warrior's face with one hand and pulling at her shoulder with the other, Skuld yanked her freed leg to the left and threw her attacker off the side of the ramp, sending him down the rocky slope below with a jagged scream.

Skuld laid there for a while, after that, sucking in air and trying to chase the blotches of white and black from her vision as she collected herself.

She was an idiot. The biggest- _augh_ , _gods,_ was she stupid. She should have said no, should have told Lucan to cram it. But no, she'd gotten comfortable, comfortable enough to get _bored._ Bored enough to think it wasn't a completely terrible idea for her – not her _and_ Ralof, just _her_ – to go marching up a mountain after some thieves because _that_ was something she could definitely handle on her own.

She'd spent the last few months doing odd jobs and the occasional bounty mission, (though those bounties were usually for wolves or bears or giant spiders that were stirring up trouble) and somehow, she'd gotten comfortable enough fighting along the way to think that she could do this. Which, she supposed she _could_ – maybe – the proof of that was currently tumbling down the side of a mountain, but there was always next time.

Next time, would she be so fortunate? _Luck_ wasn't exactly something she'd ever had a plethora of.

When Skuld finally moved, it was only because the storm had gotten so bitter and riled that she couldn't physically stand to lay there another second. She pulled herself up, though her back was very much against the idea, and recovered what few arrows remained on the ramp, returning them to her quiver. The blood from her nose had crusted over her lips and chin, and she did her best to wipe the hardened flecks away with the back of her sleeve as she carefully made the climb back up the ramp. Her nose wasn't broken, luckily, but the skin had split a little at the bridge.

 _What's one more scar at this point?_ She thought, bitter, as she reached the top, (Why was it _always_ the face with her?) thankful to find her bow where she'd dropped it. Skuld didn't know what she would have done if that had gone over the side.

 _Just-_ She heaved a sigh as she ducked into the tower, thankful to finally have something shielding her against the wind. _Let's just… find the claw so we can go._ Though she wasn't exactly sure _where_ she planned on going in this weather, or when she started thinking of herself as a ' _we_ ,' for that matter. Maybe it was part of the whole identity crisis she seemed to be so dangerously close to having these days.

There wasn't much in the top floor of the tower itself; a table and chairs, an unlit lantern, some barrels and a few bedrolls. Still, Skuld searched the room, turning up a pouch of septims hidden in one of the bedrolls, a few apples from the barrels, and a small bag of what she could only assume to be stolen jewelry hanging from the backrest of one of the chairs.

No claw.

 _Please, please, please_ _be up here_. Skuld prayed as she climbed the steps to the very top of the tower, where a lookout's perch was situated, wincing as the harsh bite of the wind returned. A voice in the back of her mind told her that she knew it wasn't going to be here – not with her luck, because nothing was ever simple when she was involved – but she dismissed it, drawing her fur hood back up over her head and shuffling towards the lone chest stationed there.

It took her a minute to open it, the latches packed with snow and encrusted in a thin layer of ice, but when she did, Skuld found her suspicions confirmed. The chest held nothing of incredible value – mismatched clothes stripped from travelers, no doubt, a rusty dagger, and a broken shield – and Skuld would have thrown her head back and screamed her agitation away, if not for the wind pushing against her face with force enough to suffocate.

 _Bleak Falls Barrow, he'd said._ Skuld had known this wasn't it, but she'd hoped that maybe, maybe the thieves hadn't made it back that far yet, or something. "Why do you hate me?!" Skuld barked at no god in particular as she retreated back down into the tower, her gloved hand coming up to pull at the amulet of Akatosh strung around her neck – the only thing she'd been allowed to keep after being caught at the border and stripped of her belongings.

Skuld had never been one for the gods, but with luck like her's – so terrible it seemed beyond the realm of mere coincidence – you could bet your ass she was superstitious in such matters.

Besides, the amulet wasn't her's. It was… it was a gift.

"What the fuck do I do now?" She groaned, dropping miserably into one of the rickety chairs.

The way she saw things, she had three options. One of which was sensible, one of which was incredibly foolish, and one of which was… questionable.

Sensible: She could stay in the tower, wait out the storm, then head back to Riverwood once it passed, providing the trek back wasn't too perilous. The fire outside had no-doubt burnt out by now, with no one around to tend it, and Skuld couldn't for the life of her conjure a flame on her own, (Alteration was her specialty, Restoration her secondary school, and Destruction her _incredibly frustrating_ pet project for which she showed _no_ promise whatsoever) so starting it up again that way was out. If she bundled herself up in the furs from the bedrolls she might be fine, but nothing was definitive, especially when she didn't know how long the storm would last.

Foolish: She could leave now, try her luck – _ha!_ – going back down the way she came. But the storm wasn't showing signs of stopping any time soon, and she was closer to the top of the mountain than the bottom of it, so there were no guarantees she wouldn't freeze long before then. Not to mention she'd be a sitting duck for any wolves that were about.

And, finally, Questionable: It was a gamble, really, but she _could_ keep going, press onwards. The Barrow wasn't far now. If she could just get there, get _inside_ , she'd have shelter from the storm _and,_ potentially, a chance at retrieving the claw and who knows what else for her troubles. Downsides? Bandits were a given, gods only knew how many. This had only been a waystation for them, it would seem. The storm was still an issue, and there was no guarantee she'd be so fortunate in combat a second time, especially with the wind how it was. (Skuld was certain that, at this point, any arrow she fired wouldn't make it too far from her bow before being knocked aside)

So, decision time.

Skuld reclined in her seat, throwing her head back and bundling her arms around herself. Foolish was out of the question, for sure; she'd known as much almost as soon as she'd conjured the plan in her mind. That left Sensible and Questionable. Both were a gamble, worst case-scenario they both got her killed. One death would be slow, the other violent, _painful_. Best case scenario – talking payout, here – Sensible got her nothing than what she'd already scrounged, whereas Questionable was an unknown boon, but a definite increase.

So, cut her losses, swallow her pride, and wait it out? Or suck it up, get greedy, and keep moving?

At this point, Skuld wasn't sure which would get her killed first, her notoriously bad luck or notoriously bad judgement.

With a groan, she made up her mind, "I'm going to regret this _so much_ an hour from now."

Questionable it was.

* * *

 **A.N./** If you've made it this far with me, you've probably realized that this isn't going to be the typical Skyrim adventure/romance fic. If not, this is me telling you that.

As a writer, my favorite thing to do is explore different personality types and how they react to stress and changes in their environment, and how, from that, they change, whether it's for better or for worse. So, in a lot of ways, this fic is going to be a Character Study/Skuld's Story first, exploring how Skuld and (when we get there, Brynjolf and the others') personalities clash and play off of each-other, and a romance second. (Though when that point does eventually roll around, it'll be kind of a big deal.)

Also, I hope that Skuld's indecisiveness and near-constant state of "what will I do/what did I do/what have I done," and general "nope" attitude in the face of impending plot, doesn't come across as annoying, but realistic. (One thing I've noticed a lot while proof reading is how flighty she seems and how that might come across as irritating.) The idea that I've been going for is that Skuld has absolutely no idea what she's doing and that terrifies her. Yes, she is a capable, relatively intelligent girl who's good at picking up miscellaneous skills from other people (I like to think of her similarly to Rosita from The Walking Dead in that regard, except Rosita is WAY better at handling herself in a fight) but that doesn't mean she knows how to apply these skills practically or has ever had to rely on them to keep her alive. Before now, her skills were just hobbies, not necessities.

She's also not used to being by herself, which is something I've really tried to stress with her homesickness and immediate attachment to / reliance on Ralof. She's independent, or tries to be, but she's used to having someone to fall back on when things go wrong, and in her case they usually do. A lot of the beginning of the story is just going to be her growing up, (because, really, she's very childish and immature in a lot of ways) testing her limits, figuring out what she is and isn't capable of and learning how to stand on her own. So, if you're cool with that, and I do hope you are, strap in because this is gonna be one hell of a ride!

Anyways, enough of my rambling. As always, reviews are strongly appreciated and, honestly, make my day; What do you like about Skuld? What don't you like? (Because I've been purposely giving her flaws and trying to make them apparent through her actions and thought process) What would you like to see from her in the future? How would you like to see her grow and change? I'm truly very interested to know.


	7. The Golden Claw III

An hour later and Skuld wasn't regretting her choice nearly as much as she thought she would be. Sure, it had been an absolute cunt getting up to, and then into, the Barrow. The snow had been up to her knees, the storm so stirred up she could hardly see a few feet in front of her, and she'd spent every second of the trek hating herself for being unable to conjure something as simple as a flame.

But there was, however, a bright side: the guards they'd stationed outside? One of them was frozen solid ( _super_ dead) and the other three were far too busy huddling by around a fire they'd built beneath the shelter of a semi-collapsed column to notice her slowly trudging by with all the inconspicuous grace of a handicapped mammoth.

Idiots.

Slipping into the barrow itself had been easy, thanks to that. The doors had been annoyingly loud, but the two bandits in the main hall hadn't noticed, far too busy cozying up to their own fire as Skuld barred the door shut behind her. The last thing she wanted was for the bandits on watch duty to say ' _fuck this_ ' and wander back inside.

As Skuld crept up on the bandits stationed in the main hall, their conversation caught her attention: "-sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?" Skuld froze, halting her advance and pressing herself up against one of the pillars that held up the hall, blocking her body from view as she listened intently.

"That dark elf wants to go on ahead, let him. Better than us risking our necks."

"What if Arvel doesn't come back? I want my share from that claw!"

"Just shut it and keep an eye out for trouble."

When they fell into silence, apparently done with the topic, Skuld moved in on them, dispatching them both with relative ease before helping herself to their campsite.

Skuld sat for a while after that, warming herself by the fire, her bow within reach should someone emerge from the tunnel in front of her. She'd taken off her gloves and wolf skin cloak, spreading them out beside the fire to thaw out and dry as she did the same.

The bandits had had a pot of stew on the fire before she'd taken them out, potatoes and skeever, from the looks of it, and Skuld helped herself to a bowl as she waited. It wasn't spectacular, rather bland, actually, but it was by no means horrible either. Honestly, the warmth that it brought her alone made it worth a second helping.

By the time she'd finished, Skuld was pleasantly warm and her clothes had mostly thawed out. Her cloak had not dried out completely, but she hadn't expected it to. The thick pelts and furs she adorned herself with to combat Skyrim's climate kept her from freezing, yes, but once they were wet, one could bet that they'd be some stage of damp for at least the next day or two.

With a sigh she pushed herself up off the floor and raised her arms to stretch, her shoulders popping as she did so. Her back was still sore from earlier, and she was sure her neck had bruised.

As Skuld pulled her cloak back on, tucking her gloves into her waistband, she absentmindedly wondered just what was so special about Lucan's claw. Yes, it was made of gold, but surely there was more to it than that. _I mean, why steal something so valuable then escape up a mountain with it? Why not fence it as soon as you can, if it's worth so much?_ Add to that what she'd gleaned from the bandit's conversation, and it almost sounded like they were hoping to use the claw to help them get something.

There was just something about this whole thing didn't sit right with her.

-Maybe it was the Barrow that was doing it. It was a _crypt_ , after all.

"The sooner I can get out of here, the better." Skuld sighed, scooping up her bow.

Proceeding onwards, Skuld was cautious – there could be anything going forwards – and moved slowly, slipping silently through the tunnel and down the attatched corridor. Admittedly, her pace was also set at the behest of her curiosity.

She'd never seen anything like this before. There were designs, faded but visible, carved into the walls, swirling and organic, more decipherable in some places than others. Skuld slowed, reached out and brushed her hand over the etchings. The dust and cobwebs came off thick under her fingers and she pulled her hand away, palming it off on the leg of her trousers. _It really is fascinating. Too bad it's probably infested with bandits._ Were the circumstances different, Skuld could see herself wandering this place for hours, drawing out the strange, swirling designs in her journal alongside her usual armor designs and nature sketches.

It was strange; even her new life in Skyrim and the dangers that came with it could not strip her of her lust for knowledge, of her unending curiosity, of her obsessive need to create.

With a look of fleeting longing, Skuld moved on. She eventually came to the end of the corridor, where it diverted the left, though there was an alcove carved out with a stone table (or maybe it was a casket?) tucked up atop a short set of steps. There was an expensive looking golden urn on top of the… _whatever_ it was. Skuld listened to her gut and didn't touch it.

The Gods already had it out for her, she wasn't about to push it.

The second corridor was lined with similar… _objects_ , all with an urn or two on top. The dust had been disrupted on them, though, and Skuld could see where greedy hands had tried to – or had perhaps succeeded – in prying the urns open.

The corridor wound on like that for a little while, and just when Skuld was starting to wonder if the entire place was just a maze of hallways, she turned a corner and saw someone.

Skuld ducked fast, dropping into a crouch, and drew out her bow. The corridor ramped down, but finally came to an end, opening up to a larger room, though Skuld couldn't see very much of it. Directly in her line of sight, though, standing inside the room, was a bandit.

His back was to her, though, and Skuld intended to take advantage of that fact.

She crept closer, prepping an arrow and drawing it back as the bandit messed with something in front of him. Skuld sucked in a breath, holding herself steady, but before she could let the arrow fly, something else beat her to it.

A strange sound filled the air, and suddenly the bandit was screaming as his body was turned into a pin cushion right before Skuld's eyes. Skuld balked, slowly lowering her bow and recalling her arrow as she released a stuttered breath.

 _What… what the shite?!_

She waited for who even knew how long before she dared to move, slinking hesitantly down the corridor towards the open room.

It was a lever, Skuld quickly discovered, that the bandit had been trifling with.

The room was… strange in it's design, with three small pillars, each on a circular dais, tucked into the left wall. The first depicted a hawk, the second a whale, and the third another hawk. On the far wall, hung above a barred off doorway, were two large mummified stone heads, mouths stretched open wide to display similar depictions. Between the heads the wall had crumbled away, a third head, that must have fit into the space at some point, lay in a pile of rubble on the floor.

"Two snakes and a whale…" Skuld whispered, "A puzzle?"

Of course! It was simple… honestly, somewhat suspiciously so – at least, it was if her hunch was correct. Skuld could vaguely recall reading about such puzzles before. In one of Chezeem's books, perhaps? No, Nordic tombs wouldn't have interested him- one of her fiancé's books, then. He had always been fascinated by things like this; it was one of the few things they had in common other than a shared hatred for their impending marriage.

Skuld returned her arrow to her quiver and set her bow down, leaning it against the left wall so she could better inspect the pillars. They appeared to be three sided, and if she craned her head to peer into the indentations that housed them, she could see more animalistic reliefs carved into their other sides.

 _Do I just… turn them?_ Skuld reached towards the first pillar hesitantly, as if it, too, might be some sort of lethal trap. She splayed her palms out over the intricate carvings, testing the waters, and when nothing happened, she braced her shoulder against the right corner of the pillar and pushed. At first, nothing happened, but after a few seconds of straining against the stone it began to shift.

It was difficult to maneuver the pillars into the proper placement, but not impossible. Their being tucked so far into the wall didn't help. It was more awkward than Skuld would have liked to get the leverage she needed to turn them. Once she got them all into position, she looked back to the stone heads, comparing them.

"I really hope I'm right about this." Skuld spoke to herself, like she so often did, as she retrieved her bow and approached the lever. Of course, there wasn't any way for her to pull it from a distance, but that didn't mean that she didn't wish for one regardless as she placed a careful hand over the end of the lever.

 _Just pull it and be ready to back the fuck up._

Skuld sucked in a deep breath and let it out, "Please don't kill me for this-" She slotted the lever forwards with one hard tug, then vacated the space around it as fast as she could, but the darts never came. Instead, the barred gate at the end of the room began to raise. Skuld heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

Through the doorway was nothing but inky blackness and as Skuld crossed through the archway, she summoned a ball of candlelight to trail after her. In many ways she liked the darkness, in all the ways it could conceal her, but in other ways she hated it, for the ability to act as a shroud was not exclusive to aiding one party.

She could hear something skittering in the dark as she proceeded forwards – skeevers, it sounded like – and contemplated dispatching them with the knife in her boot for some close quarters practice before deciding otherwise. The last thing she wanted was to get bit and come down with Ataxia when it could have been easily avoided. She drew her bow, then whistled, quick and sharp, in the direction of the sound.

There was a second of silence before claws clattered against wood, the sound rounding on itself before the scratching was transferred onto stone. A skeever leapt out of the darkness and into her circle of light, mouth open, and Skuld reacted quickly, aiming in half a second before sending an arrow straight into its mouth, letting it tear out the back of its neck. As the rodent fell to the ground, dead, another came at her from the shadows. She dropped this one too, and the one that followed after it, with relative ease.

Skuld waited, listening for a moment before retrieving her arrows and continuing onwards in the direction that the rodents had come from. The lack of activity would be discouraging, if not for the large boot prints disturbing the layer of dust that coated the stone floor. There was only one set, fairly recent, and Skuld was willing to bet that the owner was in possession of one golden ruddy claw.

She followed the tracks down a dubiously stable wooden staircase, nearly rolling her ankle on a skeever that had gotten caught between two of the steps and died there, its head poking through in prime tripping-over position.

The staircase opened into a larger room, a large stone table in the center. As Skuld approached it, she stood. There was a scroll and a vial of some sort set down on top of some old linens. Skuld could feel the magic surrounding the scroll and scooped it up, briefly unrolling it for inspection.

Scrolls were something Skuld had little experience with; the style of them varied mage to mage, and it was often difficult to discern a spell that laid outside one's school of expertise. Add to that the fact that this one was likely a few hundred some odd years old, and she wasn't even going to attempt to identify what spell it held. She pocketed it anyways, thinking it could come in handy regardless.

She picked up the vial next, pulling out the cork and lifting it to her nose. She grimaced, recognizing instantly the potent scent of paralytic poison; her mentor's weapon coating of choice. The vial was re-corked and tucked into the side pocket of her bag alongside her own stock of alchemic concoctions.

Skuld pushed on, following the tracks down a hallway shooting off from the room, replenishing her candlelight spell as she went.

There was a disconcertingly exorbitant number of cobwebs clogging the hall, growing thicker and more obstructive the further she went. _Please don't be giant spiders, please don't be giant spiders, please, please, please, for the love of drunken muffs don't be giant friggin spiders._ Skuld suppressed a whine as she pulled her iron dagger from her boot to slash at the thick nets of web blocking her path.

It wasn't until Skuld had ripped through the wall of webbing that she realized the hallway had opened into a room, and she paled at what she saw. Giant spider eggs coated the walls and sections of the floor, the rest of the place was littered with bodies; skeevers and humans alike, all of them coated in thick blankets of spider silk. In the middle of it all was a frostbite spider, the biggest she'd ever seen – though that really didn't say much, she'd only come across them once before. Hearing Skuld's less than stealthy intrusion, it turned, hard legs clattering against the stone. It was injured, though, one of its mandibles was missing and there was a large, infected looking gash on one of its chelicerae.

" _Balls_." Skuld breathed numbly, staggering backwards as the beast charged her. She hastily swapped her knife out for her bow and nocked an arrow, drawing back her bowstring as she backed away. The heel of her boot caught on a root grown over the stone as she let the arrow loose, and it flew off towards the ceiling as she fell backwards, coming down hard on her ass. Skuld hissed in pain, letting it stun her for only a moment as she scrambled backwards through the doorway. The spider crashed against the open archway, too big to fit after her, and Skuld breathed a quick breath of relief as she nocked another arrow. This time it found its home in the spider's underbelly. The spider hissed and withdrew, but not before Skuld could fire another arrow into it's underside.

It was still for a moment, almost contemplative, and as Skuld drew back another arrow, she realized what it was about to do just a second before it did, the feeling not so different to suddenly being able to predict when a cat was about to pounce. Skuld rolled to the side, just narrowly managing to avoid a gob of venom being spat at her. _Shit, shit, shit_ , she repeated in her head like some twisted mantra as the spider returned to the doorway, attempting to tuck in its legs so that it might be able to finagle its way through.

Skuld took a calculated risk and discarded her bow in favor of patting herself down, hands shaky and desperate as she rooted around for the magical scroll she'd found. After what seemed like an eternity, her fingers closed around what she was looking for. The scroll's magic seeped into her, leaving the parchment to wither into ash in her hand. Sending up a quick prayer that it wasn't some kind of fucked up suicide spell, Skuld lashed out, striking her hand through the air in front of her as she'd been taught to. From her fingertips sprang a massive arc of fire that was sent crashing into the half-wedged arachnid, and Skuld realized almost instantly that it _not_ the type of spell meant to be used in small spaces, let alone at close range. She tucked her knees into her chest and gathered her arms in front of her face, palms facing outwards, then threw up a hasty ward spell as the orb of flames exploded outwards, incinerating everything in the immediate vicinity.

In the aftermath of the explosion, the spider lay in pieces, charred, while the room and hallway were left covered in scorch marks. Skuld groaned as she sat up, shoving one of the spider's legs off herself as she reached out to grab her bow, "- _Frig_!" Skuld hissed, pulling her hand away from the weapon as she realized that it, too, had been caught up in the flames and was now nothing more than a smoldering piece of charcoal with intent to burn anything that touched it.

"Well that's just bloody great." She grumbled, pushing herself up off the floor. At least there didn't seem to be any other spiders, thank the fucking Gods.

Her relief was short lived, however, as she came across her next obstacle.

Tangled up in the web blocking off the next doorway was the freshly dead corpse of a dark elf – Arvel, if Skuld was going to make assumptions – his face frozen in an expression of perpetual terror, eyes stuck wide open. With a deep grimace, Skuld pulled her knife from her boot and began the tediously gross process of cutting the man down. "-Take up mercenary work, Skuld, it'll be _great_!" She muttered to herself as she stabbed at the webbing, "You don't have to do anything dangerous, just-" _Stab_ , "-odd-" _Stab_ , "-jobs!"

The rest of the webbing gave way under Arvel's weight, collapsing into itself as the dark elf's corpse dropped to the floor with a dense thud. Skuld tucked her knife back into her boot and dropped to her knees to pull the spider silk from the bandit, "When this is all over," Skuld told the thief, as if he could hear her, "I'm gonna become a blacksmith or a bard or something- this kind of shit never happens to blacksmiths and bards." Skuld muttered through her teeth as she pulled away the last of the spider silk.

She then began the tedious process of patting the thief down, cursing him inwardly for having literally _all of the pockets_. When she did finally find what she'd been risking life and limb for, she couldn't stop an ecstatic cry from escaping her lips. The claw was bigger than she'd been expecting – not that she'd really known _what_ to expect, but…

Skuld turned the artifact over in her hands, brows furrowing as she found animal etchings similar to the ones on the stone pillars: a bear, a moth, and an owl, "So that's why they wanted you…" It had to be a key of some kind, or at the very least the answer to another puzzle. Skuld shrugged her pack off of her shoulder and tucked it safely inside, then went back to frisking the dark elf.

He didn't have much else on him of interest – a few stray coins, a garnet, some lockpicks – but he did have an old, leather bound journal. Skuld untied the rawhide cord fastened around it and opened it to the latest entry:

 _My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it, the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favorite store decoration was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow._

 _Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that "When you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands."_

Skuld took in the information, then closed the journal, retied the cord, and tucked it in the bag with the rest of her loot. Her pack was starting to get heavy; she kept everything she owned in it, not trusting the non-existent 'security' at the inn to keep her things safe, and also unwilling to pay for her room when she wasn't going to be using it.

When she was done here, she'd perhaps make the three-day trek to Whiterun to sell the things she'd accumulated. The journey would do her good, she thought, and Grim was starting to get a little stir crazy with her always leaving him behind at Gerdur's while she was off working. Besides, it was doubtful that the Riverwood trader would have the coin to relieve her of all the jewelry she'd collected on this little excursion. She may hate dealing with bandits, but damned if they didn't have some of the best stuff.

Skuld closed her pack and pulled it back over her shoulders. The logical part of her brain wondered if maybe she should turn back, now that she'd gotten what she'd come for, but the curious, adventure-hungry portion of it screamed for her to keep going, to see this thing out until the end. If she walked away now, the questions of what could have been would nag at her for months, if not years.

Taking in a deep breath, Skuld stood, stepped over the body of the thief, and pushed onwards.

She was in the main crypt now, toeing her way silently though a large open room lined with gaunt, dehydrated bodies adorned in decrepit armor. The air felt different here, somehow; thicker, or maybe heavier? Like a tangible _weight_ that settled atop her skin. Skuld wondered if this was perhaps what it always felt like to be so deep underground.

Whatever it was, she didn't like it.

Her fingers twitched around the empty air, the way they tended to when she found herself feeling endangered with no practical means of defending herself. Her left hand rose, absentmindedly grabbing ahold of her amulet in a vague attempt to assuage her unease, her other hand falling to pull her knife. It slipped from its sheath, sewn into the inside of her boot, with the slick sound of steel on steel, and, suddenly, Skuld was no longer alone.

A low, throaty gurgle emerged from her left and Skuld froze, every hair on her body coming to a simultaneous state of attention as a fierce wave of dread slithered up her spine. Her candlelight spell chose that _vital_ moment to flicker out of existence, and Skuld didn't know whether to be grateful for the sudden shroud as she pressed herself against one of the pillars supporting the room, or petrified because there was now some great unknown lurking in the darkness that her brain had no way of quantifying.

Something like old bones creaked in the blackness, dry muscles and tendons flexing over one another audibly as a dim light blue glow fell over the crypt. Skuld shimmied against the pillar, gripping her knife tight as she craned her neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what she was up against.

 _What. The. Shit._

Her eyes met the back of a spindly silhouette, tall like a Nord but lacking in their usual bulk. Decaying armor hung from the husk of its body; a busted chest piece with a broken shoulder strap, missing pauldrons, no greaves. A broadsword dangled precariously in the loose grip of one hand, dragging against the stone floor with an eerie metallic whine as the creature took a shambling step forwards.

Skuld felt suddenly as though she was going to be sick. Her skin grew cold, clammy, her pumping blood rising to a roar in her ears as her heart thudded relentlessly in her chest, so loud she feared it might somehow give her away.

 _Do something_ , a small voice in the back of her head – that sounded suspiciously like Ysa – prodded. _Its back is turned- don't think about it too much. Just do something. Do something do something do something!_

-She did something.

Skuld pushed away from the pillar before her fear could nail her down, the feeling not unlike the rush of jumping from a high ledge into a body of water – that one surreal moment a split second after the action is carried out when you realize that there's nowhere to go but down, that the situation is now beyond your control, that the only option left is to follow through till the end because to hesitate is to die.

She rushed the corpse from behind, her own pulse the only thing she could hear as she leapt into the air and locked her left arm around the abomination's forehead, legs twining around it's torso as she yanked its head back, giving her the angle she needed to drive her knife into its throat. White spots danced in her vision as she stabbed three times in quick succession, the pull of dry skin puncturing beneath her dull blade like a strip of thick leather giving way to a needle.

Her chest heaved, the corpse dropped to its knees, broadsword clattering to the ground, but Skuld didn't stop. She was too afraid to stop. It was _dead-_ had been dead- should have _stayed_ dead, because that was the whole point of _being friggin' dead_. Was it even _possible_ to kill it? Skuld was too afraid to find out, so she kept driving her dagger into the expanse of dehydrated skin, a broken sob tearing up her throat with each vicious stab as her teeth clenched over her bottom lip.

The desiccated corpse toppled forwards, and Skuld fell with it to straddle its hips, pulling back her blade and jamming it into the crown of its head three times for good measure, twisting the knife in place after the last stab before finally wrenching it out and letting it fall through her fingers. The dagger clattered to the stone as Skuld slumped forwards, bracing her hands on either side of the corpse's head as she tried to calm herself. Her chest was tight, and her mind was racing, and everything felt hot and cold and _white_ and it seemed like every part of her was shaking.

 _What the fuck was-_ Before Skuld could even finish her thought, there was a fist in her hair, wrenching her head back and dragging her off the corpse. It took all she had not to scream, not to potentially alert anything else, as she flailed, kicking her legs wildly and clawing behind her. Her hands closed over a wrist – later, she might reflect on the way it felt; textured like a blend of taunt leather and dried jerky – and she rolled onto her knees then pushed herself up into a squat, wrenching her hands in the opposite direction as she forced the arm to the side of her head. Before Skuld could even realize what she was doing, she'd turned her head and bitten down over her assailant's forearm- _hard._

Everything after that seemed to happen all at once.

Teeth tore through tough flesh, catching on dried veins and tendons, tangling between her teeth as her mouth filled with blood so old it had thickened into a dry, copper-flavored paste. Her leg swung around, her entire body moving on nothing but instinct, to sweep her attacker's own legs out from under them. The corpse hit the ground hard, the bow in its opposite hand clattering to the stone as Skuld scrambled to straddle it, completely beyond caring about the mouthful of desiccated flesh still sitting atop her tongue as her hands closed around the abomination's throat, pinning it down.

It clawed at her arms, century old nails digging into her flesh as Skuld panicked. _A weapon-_ she needed a weapon- choking wouldn't work but- but she couldn't let go or- " _Aeugh-!_ " Skuld bit back a pained shout as the undead woman below her dug her nails into the freshly healed indentations in Skuld forearm, causing her vision to burn white. Something crackled through the haze in her vision, purple and bright as it shot forth from her fingertips, zigging and zagging and arcing wildly through the air and against the ancient warrior's leathery flesh. As the pain her Skuld's arm intensified, so did the electricity dancing at her fingertips, seeping under the woman's skin and flaring it up from the inside out.

Slowly, the corpse's grip weakened unto the point of relinquishing completely, nails slipping from the holes she'd dug into Skuld's arm to allow her arms to drop like dead weight. The musty air filled with the scent of burning leather as the blue orbs of light residing in the warrior's empty eye sockets faded, and Skuld sat back to stare into the palms of her hands.

 _That- that's_ definitely _new._


	8. The Golden Claw IV (Fin)

When Skuld finally made a move to crawl off the corpse, it was to wretch over the stone as she all at once remembered the heaping portion of desiccated flesh that she'd collected in her mouth. She spat and dry heaved, wiping fervently at her tongue with her hand and nearly gagging as she picked leathery shreds of skin out from between her teeth. The water in the drinking pouch on her hip was frozen solid and Skuld really needed to invest in an enchantment on that thing to prevent such an occurrence because if any situation had ever called for a swish and spit, this was it.

 _Gods, why in Oblivion had that seemed like a good damn idea-?!_

"I don't think I'll ever be able to eat another piece of jerky so long as I damn live…" Skuld whispered through a weary half-cough, half-groan as she pushed herself up off the floor, retrieving her knife and scooping up the bow that the corpse had abandoned. The wood was splintered, but it looked like it would at least hold out long enough for her to get out of this… whatever the fuck this place even was anymore.

-How she always somehow managed to land ass-backwards in situations like this she would never know. And, quite honestly, she wasn't sure she even _wanted_ to know.

There was also the matter of what had happened just now- how she'd managed to off that thing. Skuld was almost certain that it had been destruction magic but that _couldn't_ be it because she couldn't conjure a flame to save her damn life. Because she'd tried before. For _hours_. Only, whatever that had just been definitely hadn't been fire, or frost- so, shock? But that didn't make any sense because she'd been _assessed_ and-

-And suddenly, a lot of things made sense.

When Skuld had still been in Cyrodiil, after she'd taken a general interest in learning about destruction magic, Chezeem had laid each of the branches out for her and ran her through a series of tests to determine which one she'd take to the easiest.

Fire, Chezeem had explained, was for the wild and the free. Mages who could wield fire were untamed and undisciplined, causing their powers to manifest in a way that was equally as raw and uncontrollable. Fire was the favorite element of the proud, the fierce, and the unbreakable.

Frost was for the cold and the disciplined. Mages who could wield ice were more often than not introverted and aloof, expressing their powers in ways as brittle and cold as they were. Frost was the chosen element of the emotionally distant, the painstakingly determined, and the irrevocably loyal.

Shock… Shock was where it got a bit more messy, a bit more difficult to define. Shock, from what little Skuld understood, was for the restless and the controlling. Mages who could wield sparks were as methodical as they were sloppy, as grounded as they were liberated. Shock was the unruly element of the stubborn, the calculating, and chaotically indifferent.

Skuld had been pinned with fire, and it had made sense, at the time. It had felt _right_. So, when it came to be that she couldn't so much as light the wick of a candle… they'd chocked it up to her just not having it in her and thought nothing else of it. Some people just couldn't manage certain schools of magic; it was a perfectly common occurrence.

Looking back at it now, though, perhaps she'd simply been misaligned. Because, as Skuld was learning more and more every day, she'd hadn't the slightest bloody clue _who_ in Oblivion she was before she'd landed herself a front row seat to the events at Helgen.

She'd never seen herself as _calculating_ before Skyrim, never seen herself as _careful_ or _cautious_ or anything other than brutally direct. (Sure, she'd snuck around on the daily, picked her fair share of locks, stolen her fair share of shit, but that was all a far cry from being _methodical_.) She'd seen herself – or perhaps just _wanted_ to see herself – as everything a fire mage was that a shock mage wasn't.

More than anything, she'd just wanted to be free.

The skin of her hands was still tingling in the places that the sparks had arced off her fingertips, the sensation foreign and prickling, but not painful- numb, but not without feeling. It was almost like a… like a _fluttering_ just beneath the skin. Skuld peered down into her empty palm and flexed her fingers, trying to determine what exactly she'd done earlier to call upon the power and whether or not she'd be able to do it again if she needed to.

Was it her fear? Her panic? The static that had invaded her mind, blotting out reason in favor of base instinct. Or had it been something to do with the pain? With the white-hot burning that had put stars in her eyes and set her nerves ablaze. Whatever it was would have to wait until later, until she had the time and the energy – the luxury – to meditate on it further. _Why can't anything ever be simple?_

Skuld shook her head and dug into one of the pouches on her belt, retrieving a long strip of recycled cloth that she could use to bandage the wounds on her forearm for now. If the shock thing really _had_ been because of the pain, she wasn't about to heal herself and cut off a possible means of defending herself. But _frig_ ,did it hurt like a whore.

Once she'd fastened the cloth around her arm, Skuld pulled an arrow from her quiver to prep her bow and cast a candlelight spell. This time, she kept the spell small, no bigger than an egg, and focused her energy into extending its duration rather than assuring its brightness. She didn't need much, just enough to see where she was going. The last thing she wanted to do was draw more of those… whatever they were to herself. Gods, she hoped there weren't more of them.

 _But that would just be too easy, wouldn't it?_ Skuld thought to herself as she proceeded onwards, cautiously skirting around a large raised stone on the floor that was just a bit _too_ eager to be stepped on for her liking. _Can't have graverobbers getting too comfortable, can we?_ _No, that would just be rude._

* * *

Endless- this place was bloody _endless_. Not only that, things just kept getting weirderand _weirder_. First, there were the walking corpses. And, okay, yeah, those were bloody terrible and Skuld's probably going to be seeing them in her nightmares for months, (like reliving Helgen on the nightly wasn't already bad enough) but as long as she was quiet and didn't bumble around, the corpses lining the walls were content to just stay dead- she thinks. It's really hard to tell the actually-dead from the not-quite-dead and Skuld isn't about to go tapping on their shoulders in an effort to figure it out. No, she can live without solving that mystery, thank you very kindly.

Anyways.

Then there was- oh, a hallway of _swinging blades_! Because that was something that desperately needed to exist. Skuld nearly lost an ass cheek maneuvering those and came _so_ close to saying goodbye to her nose on multiple occasions. But hey, at least there was an off switch (pull?) _on the other damn side_. Skuld loves ancient ruins, she does, but Bleak Falls Barrow? This place can go fuck itself. Repeatedly. Preferably with a blade of some kind- or at the very least a pointy mace.

Then there was a long, winding, half-crumbled hallway flooded with oil. That had been fun. Not to mention really hard to maneuver silently. After that was a whole lot of fuckery with an underground river that was waydeeper than it had looked and far too fast moving than it had any business being. Skuld had managed to find another fireball scroll, but the joy that came with that was immediately snuffed out by an agitated lady corpse and a way-too-precarious looking land bridge. Then there was another blade hall and Skuld had _so_ been hoping she'd never see one of those again so long as she damn lived.

But _this_ , this took the piss.

"-Where do you cunts keep coming from?!" Skuld had to admit, while she surely _didn't_ appreciate all of the things trying to kill her today, she did appreciate the _slight_ learning curve it brought about. The terms 'hands-on experience' and 'trial by fire' came to mind as she clubbed a shambling corpse in the mouth with her bow, shattering its teeth and downing it with a sick _thwack._ Twisting the bow in her hands, Skuld lined the steel-horned string nock up with the old Nord's skull and drove it down, impaling its face against the stone floor of the crypt.

There was no time for recovery as an arrow whizzed past Skuld's face, grazing her cheek and ear lobe. Something like anger registered in the back of her mind as she whirled around, nocking an arrow of her own and pulling her bowstring taut. Her eyes locked onto the undead archer in question, a crooked sneer tugging at her lips as she let her arrow find a new home in the abomination's skull.

They kept coming.

A warrior with a broadsword its arms were too degraded to properly lift: arrow to the wrist, knife to the face. An unarmed woman who screamed loud enough to knock Skuld over: dropped down a gaping hole in the floor that had been gridded over by a wooden frame too old to support her weight. Another archer, just as horrible of a shot as the last (Skuld suspected it was their arms- too weak with age to pull the bowstring properly): disarmed, tackled into a wall, face crushed against an empty coffin.

Still, more came.

Skuld ran out of arrows. Improvised. Broke her new (splintering old) bow against a warrior's helm. Ripped a new (equally splintering) bow from the feeble hands of another archer. Boot meet knee, knee meet floor, string nock meet face. Repeat.

In the end, Skuld – miraculously – survived with nothing more than minor wounds and a newfound appreciation for the bludgeoning capabilities of steel-capped bows.

As well as a newfound hatred for literally everything else.

* * *

 _At last_.

Skuld released a long sigh as she reached out, running her hand over the enormous puzzle door before her. Everything hurt, she was covered in blood – some her own, some the pasty brown blood of the undead – and Skuld could only hope to Oblivion that everything she'd gone through in the last twelve hours would be worth it. It hadto be worth it, _needed_ to be worth it. She wasn't sure she'd have the will to drag herself back to Riverwood if it wasn't.

Dropping her bow, Skuld eased her pack off her shoulders, eyes not leaving the door as she trifled through it to locate the claw. She found it near the bottom, extracted it with care and pulled her pack back on as her eyes drifted down to the artifact. A bear, a moth, and an owl…

 _So, if you're anything like the last door_ … Skuld thought as she reached up to rotate the pieces of the door into place, "…then I've just gotta match you up with the claw, and…" Pieces in place, Skuld's attention fell to the circular stone in the center of the door where an etching of the claw and three conveniently carved holes sat, waiting.

"Please," Skuld breathed as she fit the claw into the keystone, "Please be worth it." Eyes fluttering closed, she turned the claw, the keystone moving with it.

For a moment, nothing happened; Skuld felt her heart shatter.

Then, there was a distinctive _click_ , and the rings began to turn. Skuld heaved a breath, shoulders sagging as she recalled the claw. The rings shifted into place and slowly, slowly, slowly, the door began to open.

Skuld's fingers found their way to her amulet, " _Thank you._ "

* * *

The innermost sanctum of the barrow was nothing like Skuld was expecting it to be. Where she had expected to find row upon row upon row of mummified Nords lining the walls, there was only moss, vines, the occasional shelf of glowing mushrooms. Where she had expected someplace dark and stuffy, she found herself greeted by a naturally lit cavern with air crisp and fresh as a mid-winter day.

It was almost nice.

 _Almost_ being the key word.

At first, Skuld didn't really notice it. The whisper that hung in the air like a song, beating alongside her pulse as it rose in volume the nearer she drew to the heart of the sanctum. Then, when she finally did notice it, it just felt… _compelling_.

 _[Need it, want it, need it, want it.]_

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Skuld registered that she should be freaking out. Somewhere in her head, she was. Somewhere she was beating her fists against the walls of her skull, screaming for herself to listen, to stop, to turn back because something was decidedly _wrong_ here.

But none of it seemed to register.

 _[Closer, faster, sooner, farther.]_

Suddenly, the only thing that mattered was moving forward, reaching the slab of rock as it sang to her. Her vision blurred, the blues in the air spiking, light and shadow meshing into a medley of fuzzy shapes that she couldn't quite decipher. The blood in her veins roared in her ears like rushing water, like drowning, and for the life of her she couldn't find anything wrong with it.

Her magicka began to drain.

 _[Can't see, can't think, can't speak without it.]_

Skuld climbed the steps to the alter, knowing exactly where she was going despite being blind beyond reason. Her right eye began to sting as she shambled closer, vision flickering white as a singular shape became clear in her left. Her amulet hung like an anchor around her neck as she reached out for the stone, for the single line of ancient text that overtook her mind.

 _[Touch it, hold it, taste the words on your tongue.]_

The burning intensified, the white turned solid, the pain excruciating- but Skuld didn't scream, didn't emote. Didn't recoil, didn't want to- couldn't bring herself to. Her magicka spiked, faded, washed away like water down a drain. There was a hot wetness on her cheek, her nose registered the coppery tang of fresh blood.

Finally – _finally, finally, finally_ – her fingers skimmed the stone.

 _[Let. It. Consume. You.]_

Something in her head popped. The world exploded in a flash of white.

* * *

 **A.N./** Sorry for the wait on this chapter, guys! Since my last update I've started working on my art almost full time, so finding opportunities to write when my hand isn't ten kinds of cramped has been a bit tricky. (I've also been super blocked on the barrow 'cause I hate it with the burning passion of a thousand suns. Like those first two scenes took so long and proofreading them caused me actual pain because I'd already done that whole stare-at-your-work-until-you-hate-it thing) Buuuuut better late than never, right?

This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I felt like plopping a line break after that last part - or just continuing on from there - would lessen the effect/impact of the scene, if not kill it completely? Anyways, remember forever ago when I mentioned cannon divergence? Yea this is when that first starts coming into play, which is something I'm honestly super nervous about because I've never taken so big of a leap from cannon before and I've got no clue how it's going to be received. I can, however, promise that the cannon change I have planned probably isn't what you're thinking - which may be something along the lines of, "oh no, I can sense the birth of an OP Mary-Sue." And if that is what you're worried about, fret not; I've been down that dark road back in my infancy days of writing and it is a place I refuse to return to. *Shivers* (Though, the Dragonborn is pretty OP canonically, so Skuld will eventually reach a certain level of overpowered badassery, even if it won't be for a long while.)

That said, I do hope the chapter was enjoyable, and if it was, have fun theorizing until next time! (Which, hopefully, won't be nearly as long of a wait)


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